The Coming of Winter
by HawkofLight
Summary: Indoctrinated among the Lin Kuei clan of assassins since his childhood, SubZero has accepted his most dangerous assignment yet: eliminate Shang Tsung. Epic. *Complete*
1. Part 1 Section 1 Beginning

_Note: I am not Victar. I asked for his permission to post the story because I think it is simply one of the best fanfics. I hope you enjoy as much as I did, and visit his website where it has plenty more fanfictions just as good._

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
part one of four** **written by Victar  
Victar's Archive (in my profile)**  
**Part 1 of 4: Section 1 ****

* * *

**

**No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style.  
-S. K. Z. Brust, _Jhereg_**

It was too damn hot.

A layer of sweat coated my skin beneath the blue and black cloth of my ceremonial uniform. The mask covering my nose, mouth, and lower face was smothering me. Something heavy pressed upon me, holding my arms spread-eagled on dry earth.

I opened my eyes and saw a demon.

Its front claws weighed upon my arms and its rear claws dug into my chest. Its great mass, three times that of a man, threatened to fracture my ribs. Long, sickle-shaped talons curled all the way around the circumference of my limbs. A thin crease of bright blood traced where those sharp hooks pressed upon my bare arms. The demon could have eviscerated me with less than a thought, but it was holding back for some reason.

The demon's snakelike head loomed mere centimeters away, framed by the blazing overhead sun. Bumps and ridges covered its dry, reddish-orange skin. Its watery ochre eyes had slitted pupils, like a cat's. They faced just shy of full forward, giving it depth perception and an extended visual range to either side of its head. A forked tongue flicked out of its mouth, lightly touching my forehead. Venom in its saliva seared my nerves and ate away at my skin. The creature's jaws parted, and I could see that their similarity to a snake's was more than incidental. This beast could unhinge and distend its maw wide enough to swallow a man whole.

Two long, shiny metal cuffs encircled its forearms. Etched on the right cuff's inner circumference were the tiny letters "UT."  
Ultratech was paying me a wake-up call.

* * *

I used to eagerly anticipate the coming of winter, back when I had the capability to enjoy it. In summer I was quiet, withdrawn, secretly chafing from the daily heat that so many others found cheerful and comforting. I relished the sight of colorful autumn leaves falling from their branches, for it was a sign that my favorite time of year fast approached. During the coldest winter nights, when other children huddled near the fire or curled up in a nest of blankets, I would creep past the village's limits and enjoy winter's breathtaking beauty. I liked to sled down white-covered hills or skate upon frozen rivers, building up speed until I out-paced the wind, but most of all I loved to mold snow and ice into wonders. My creations ranged from a water lily I could hold in my hand - another child's hand would have melted it, but not mine - to a majestic dragon so real that I left her eyes unfinished. I feared that if I sculpted her pupils, she would come to life and fly away. She was so beautiful that I did not want her to leave me. She was lost to me regardless, when the seasons changed and the pitiless sun reduced her to slush and muddy water.

I hated spring for many years thereafter.

* * *

I was trapped, but not helpless. Channeling strength through my neck and shoulders, I smashed my forehead against the snake-demon's nose. The creature convulsed and voiced an inhuman screech of pain. Its tail uncoiled from around my legs and snapped straight up. I jackknifed my lower body, crossing my ankles underneath its trunk, and pushed with my hips and thighs. I forced it back far enough to pull its short arms off my body and wrest my hands out of its grasp, at which moment I jabbed at the demon's eyes. It closed its armored eyelids just in time; otherwise, I might have blinded it permanently. The jabs did enough damage that the snake-demon cried another piercing, animal wail and reared back. Taking advantage of its sudden action, I pushed forward with my entire body, overbalancing the beast and shoving it off me. I rolled away and sprang to my feet at the same time as the snake-demon clumsily flopped into a four-legged stance.

I summoned the Power.

There are as many ways of calling forth the Power as there are facets of the Power itself. The Power is neither heat nor cold, light nor darkness, earthly nor spiritual. It embodies all these traits, and every other trait in existence; which trait it manifests depends upon the skill and natural inclinations of the caller. The Power encompasses all there is, and is therefore everything. It is a rare mortal indeed who has the potential to channel a single grain of the Power. Those who can usually do so by finding and reinforcing an affinity for one particular element. I do not speak of the meaningless "elements" that scientists like my younger brother blather about, but the true elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and the many derivatives thereof, such as Stone, Wind, Light... or Ice.

That is my particular proclivity, if you have not already guessed.

Facing the demon, I stretched my arms forward and flexed my palms perpendicular to my wrists, stepping back with one leg in preparation for the Power's recoil. This is not the only stance one may use to focus the Power, but it is the classical posture. One does not summon the Power by means of force, but rather by calling it, inviting it. A welcome coolness surged through me, causing my forearms to tingle. The Power poured forth from my palms, coalescing into a large, teardrop-shaped missile that sped toward my reptilian foe.

The snake-demon stood fully upright upon its hind legs and opened its jaws. With a hoarse coughing sound, it vomited a ball of flaming bile that violently clashed with my Ice. The two elements, mortal enemies of one another, annihilated themselves in a bright shower of golden sparks. Lowering its head, the beast distended its mouth further still and belched a long tongue of flame. I dashed at a right angle the demon's line of sight; the flaming breath brushed my leg close enough to burn my garb and singe my skin.

I have never liked Fire.

* * *

When I reached a certain stage in life, pleasant remembrances gave way to harsh reality. After that point I stopped keeping track, letting my recollections blur and fade, as if that would make the next day any better. One memory, the worst of them all, never goes away. It is of when I was Tested.

Previous to then, I had many dreams about my future, just like any other adolescent. At first I wanted to be a mountaineer, or an arctic explorer. I finally set my heart on being an artist, painting the glory of frozen waterfalls and sculpting endless miracles from ice and snow. One day, during a mild spring frost, I confessed my dearest hopes to my father and asked him whether he thought I could make them come true.

"No," he replied, a little too firmly.

"B-but why-?"

"Your career has already been decided. Do not speak of such things again," he commanded. Because I was a dutiful son, I didn't. Not to his face, that is. Behind his back I continued to nurture my dreams.  
Until they came for me.

It was a small village, and we all knew who most everyone was. They were the exception. They wore masks to cover their faces and black suits to conceal their bodies. Sometimes they would dress in more colorful, ceremonial attire, but never without a mask. We didn't see them often; only when they wanted to be seen, just to remind us that they were there. They were our "protectors." I have been a member of their ranks for nearly twenty years, and yet there are things I'll never know about them. What I have learned is how they operate. In return for the village's "defense," every family sacrificed a third of their wealth, and their eldest son.

My parents had two sons. I was the eldest.

I didn't know any of this when they came for me, of course. One of their strictest rules was never to speak of their presence. We did not talk about the rations of food, goods, and money that we left upon our doorsteps once a week. We did not ask why so many of the men in our village had scars, a limp, or some other physical deformity. No one knew when our "protectors" might be listening from the shadows, or through the ears of anyone around us. To openly talk about them was one of the few things that could make them angry enough to slay both the offender and his entire family. Normally, they punished disobedience first with a warning, say a cleanly broken bone and numerous bruises. A second offense brought permanent injury - the loss of a hand, say, or the agonizing extraction of one eye and one ear. To defy them a third time meant death. Anyone offering sanctuary to their target received the same sentence. No one could resist them. They were an invisible army that ambushed swiftly, silently, when their victims least expected an attack. There was no escape. Pieces of those who attempted to leave the village without their permission were scattered in the market square.

They called themselves "Lin Kuei." Some speak of them as "ninja," comparing them to long-extinct Japanese societies of highly trained spies and killers. We addressed them as "Lord," or "Master."

"Master?" I timidly questioned the brooding apparition in front of me. All I could see of him were the grey and black of his leggings, for I was folded before him in the posture of abasement.

I didn't know why he had come, only that my parents had rousted me in the dead of night and told me to go with him. So I submitted to the blindfold he wrapped around my eyes and the thick cotton wads he stuffed into my ears. He took me outdoors and spun me around like a top, completely disabling my sense of direction, then effortlessly carried me to I knew not where. His handling was not gentle. I was forced to my knees, my forehead banging against a hard floor coated with a slick, greasy substance. Heavy chains snapped around my ankles, though my hands were left free. The blindfold and cotton were removed. At first I was in complete darkness; then one by one, six white candles set in a hexagram about me caught fire and burned with a faint light. Behind the candles kneeled six black-clad men. Shadows danced on the walls of an enclosed room with no visible entrance or exit. My head stayed respectfully bowed, of course, but that didn't keep me from noticing something about my host's lower limbs that I'd missed before, in the midnight darkness. He constantly emitted tiny puffs of swirling smoke. His clothing was not afire; instead, the vapors seeped through the pores of his garments and escaped into the surrounding air, which was thick with soot and nearly made me cough.

"It is said that you have a fondness for winter. It's possible that you possess Talent," he growled, pronouncing the capital letter. His voice was clogged, raspy, like that of a veteran coal miner. "Your maternal grandfather had some small proficiency. I'm betting that you take after him. I don't like to lose my bets."

My ears perked when I heard my grandfather mentioned. He had supposedly died a couple years after I was born, but that was all I knew. My family never spoke of him, and kept no pictures or mementos.

"The Test begins now. Summon your chosen element!"

I had no idea what he was talking about. True, I was quite at home in the coldest months of winter, and I loved to craft snow and ice into beautiful shapes, but how did he expect me to summon a season? If I'd had the audacity or the ability to do such a thing, I would have done it long since. My mouth worked as I tried to explain the thousands of times I'd stared out the window and prayed for snow to come, but my vocal chords would not respond.

"I said _now!_" he snapped, kicking the side of my face. He was so swift that I never saw him move; one moment I kneeled, the next I flopped on my side and blood dripped out of my mouth. In hindsight, I know that he must have held back on the strike, or else my jaw would not have remained intact.

"L-lord?" I gasped. Speaking was difficult, and not just because of my injury. The intimidating figure before me represented power and authority in the extreme. Picture a storm dragon commanding a caterpillar to fly.

"Summon it forth, quickly! I will not ask again!" he snapped, with another kick. A sigh of relief escaped my cut lips. All I wanted was for him not to ask again. The purpose of this entire ordeal was completely beyond me. I longed to have it be over, to go home, sleep soundly in my own bed, and erase this night from my mind. Erase it forever.

"Very well. Proceed," growled my interrogator. From the echo of his voice, I could tell he was addressing someone other than me.

_Proceed with what?_ I wondered.

And the jaws of Hell devoured me.

Fire erupted upon the ground. There was no time to see where it came from. The leaping flames immediately engulfed me, feeding hungrily upon the oily film that covered the stone floor. Sparks set my clothing and hair alight. The intense heat vaporized my tears, seared my skin, and dissolved my flesh, inflicting the excruciating pain of being burned alive. When I opened my mouth to scream, thick puffs of black smoke rushed in, choking me. I thrashed violently, unable to escape because of the short length of chain clasped to my legs. I don't know for how long it went on. Eternity, it seemed. Perhaps five seconds.

Deep within me, something gave.

Past the suffering and the horrible fear of imminent death, walls that I'd never known about cracked and crumbled. A cool, salving river surged from beyond them, and with it flowed surcease from the pain. I felt it course through me and willed it to spread further, through my arms and outstretched hands. Numbness engulfed my being and froze it fast, stopping my tears and obstructing the ducts from which they came.

The surge within me slowed to a rush, then a trickle, then ran dry. I was as exhausted as if I'd been running from sunup to sundown, stretched prone, unable to move or even keep my eyes open. Before they closed, I got one last look at my surroundings. The flames on the ground were gone, and the candles were long since melted into blobs of wax, but one of the black-clad men lifted a small lantern. Its light sparkled upon a layer of ice covering the entire floor.

"Not bad," murmured the man dressed in grey and black. In the years to come, I would learn to call him by the use-name Smoke.

I was thirteen.

* * *

The burn upon my leg was not severe. In a way, the memories it brought forth were more painful than the injury itself. I released sufficient Power to extinguish my smoldering trousers, while scanning the immediate area for shelter from the snake-demon's venom. A quick look to the left and behind revealed the edge of a precipice overlooking an enormous natural canyon. Some four paces away, its reddish stone buckled in a concave drop that ranged from steep to perfectly sheer.

Roiling clouds obscured everything that lay past a certain point, but it was clearly a long way down. The effulgent orange sun hovered above the canyon's other side, which was so distant that the land beyond merged with the horizon.

To my right I saw a level expanse of rocky plain. Dry, fleshless bones cast long shadows upon landscape. Both animal and human skeletons were haplessly strewn about. Some were splintered, as if a large beast had crushed them to suck their marrow. Scraps of fabric and tarnished weapons ornamented some of the remains. A rusty saber had been snapped in two, its halves lying next to a piecemeal array of bones.

I still didn't know where I was, but I had a good guess. More than one victim has used his dying breath to suggest that I come here.

There was no time to study the landscape further, because two more enemies flanked me. One was a devil completely encased in metal armor, which had specialized joints of some black, flexible material. A radiant pair of tapering aqua prongs extruded from its either forearm. The demon's plumed helmet had two translucent lenses, through which shone a ruby glow. I've seen a gangster with one eye like that, but at least the rest of him was human. This devil looked more like a thing than a living creature.

Completing the trap was a golden rakshasa. It strongly resembled an ordinary tiger, only thinner and about half the size, but its brilliantly glowing coat and intelligent eyes belied its supernatural nature. The sinuous cat leaned forward on its front paws and forearms, adjusting its tightly wound hindquarters. According to legend, rakshasa have a fondness for human flesh.

The demons surrounded me on three sides, and behind me was the edge of the cliff. I couldn't outrun their trap. Even if I got past them, I wouldn't last twenty paces on that barren plain before the rakshasa dragged me down. That meant I'd have to fight the three of them, on their turf, and on their terms. Not good.

"Hold!" snapped a voice, stopping the creatures. The command echoed across the gorge, repeating itself several times before it faded past my ability to hear. It hadn't come from any of the demons.

"Who speaks?" I demanded. Another scan of the area revealed nothing new.

"Allow me to apologize for the rude behavior of my companions, Sub-Zero. Be at ease." The demons all relaxed a bit. I remained on edge. "Now, instead of wasting time on my trivial identity, let's talk about you. Your head must be spinning with confusion. I'm feeling generous just now, so I'll answer any three of your questions."

I remained silent.

"Come on, ask me. You know you want to. Go ahead, say it: 'Am I dead?' 'What is this place?' 'How do I get out?'"

"Show yourself," I growled, "or leave me alone."

The voice made condescending _tsk_ sounds.

"Well, if it gives you any pleasure..." The shadows cast from the demons, myself, and the bones all detached and pooled together, like rainwater flowing into a ditch. Swirling currents rippled across the inky black patch, which huddled in on itself, then stretched upward. The dark matter molded itself into a manlike visage. "Ta daa. Happy now?"

"Shade!" I gasped. I have lost the capacity to feel many things, but I remain quite susceptible to being startled.

* * *

The Hierarchy does not tolerate existence of the Power outside of the Lin Kuei's close-knit ranks. Should they suspect a mortal of having Talent, they get ahold of him, kidnapping him if necessary. Then they subject him to the Test. Through torture, they force him to reveal his abilities, or prod his dormant talents to the surface.

The Test is effective, but also brutal and with a high mortality rate. Better for the outcome to be a dead subject than a survivor possessing an undetected Power, or so the Hierarchy of the Lin Kuei believes. Not everyone who fails the Test dies, although permanent injury is common. All others who join the Lin Kuei must also endure the Test, to ensure that no applicant is keeping his Power concealed. Untested mortals might be slaves, puppets, or temporary allies of the Lin Kuei, but never actual members.

The Test's exact nature differs depending upon the subject, yet it always drawn upon their worst fears and elemental attacks. On the day of Smoke's Test, he nearly drowned in the flows of a winter river. In my case, I suffered burns on large patches of my skin, and might have been crippled if not for the expert ministrations of the Lin Kuei healers. Yes, healers. Even a clan of thieves and murderers needs someone to lick their wounds. Despite their care, I retain patches of scar tissue. To this day, I have more than one incentive to hide my face behind a mask.

Those who fail the Test are sometimes, thanks to the "supreme generosity" of the Hierarchy, permitted to return to their miserable lives. But once a man has passed the Test, there are only two possible courses for his future. One is to become a Lin Kuei assassin. The other is much more brutal and efficient than any Test could ever be. Escape is impossible.

Or so we are expected to believe.

There have been stories about the terrible consequences of a Test that went so far, it changed a man into something no longer human. He used to be a Lin Kuei member, a nocturnal recluse who seldom ventured outside the grounds. For his Test, he'd endured repeated electric shocks. His heart stopped at one point, but the healers resuscitated him and the Hierarchy was satisfied that he had no Powers. He took the use-name Shade, and for years he was an expert teacher specializing in the art of nocturnal concealment. No one thought it odd that he never ventured out of doors during the daytime.

Then one of the Hierarchy became suspicious. His identity is unimportant; all that matters is that he noticed how the night's darkness seemed to palpably thicken whenever Shade was nearby, and how Shade always avoided sunlight. Accusations were made and denied. Shade demanded the right to avenge his honor through ritual combat. The Hierarchy member could not refuse, yet he had the privilege of choosing a time and a place, and the place he chose was the top of the tallest hill at high noon.

Shade panicked and tried to retract the challenge, but it was too late. He attempted to flee, and was imprisoned. So frantic was he, it took six Lin Kuei to drag him outdoors at the appointed time. By the time he they carried him to the hilltop, he was clearly in no shape to challenge anyone. Though the sunlight didn't exactly burn him, judging from his gasps, winces, and tremors, it clearly inflicted terrible anguish.

"So," sneered the Hierarchy member, "you did lie to us. You do have supernatural Power! We merely Tested you with the wrong element - a mistake that we will now remedy. Consider this to be your true Test!"

Shade writhed like an insect speared by a pin. He begged for mercy, then for a quick death, but was granted neither. His seven tormentors observed the spectacle in silence, except for the Hierarchy member, who threw his head back and laughed. At last Shade's Power manifested, after a fashion. His own shadow thickened and grew into a solid web of blackness, enveloping his entire body. At first he screamed louder. Just before the murky shroud covered his face, he ceased his outcries and smiled. It was not a friendly smile. The oily, formless mound that had once been a man sank into the ground, vanishing completely after a few seconds. The seven Lin Kuei assumed that Shade had perished.

Until the next morning, when one of them was missing.

No trace of him could be found, no signs of a struggle, nothing. Sentries confirmed that he had entered his private quarters and never exited. No one had heard or seen anything unusual. The subsequent dawn, another of the seven had disappeared. The following four days were the same - each of Shade's tormentors vanished during the dead of midnight, despite their attempts to hide, or be on their guard. Some of them asked for help in fighting whatever was stealing their lives, but were completely shunned. No one knows what happens to a doomed man's allies better than the Lin Kuei.  
The Hierarchy member who had accused Shade was the last to be taken. It is said that spirit-winds carried his dying wail into the dreams of every Lin Kuei in the world.

Another day and night passed, this time without incident, to the extreme relief of the surviving Hierarchy. They declared a new rule: from then on, no Hierarchy member would ever administrate or be present for a Test. In the future, such tasks would fall to lesser Lin Kuei members and teachers, such as Smoke. More nights passed without trouble. Eventually, most everyone assumed that Shade's angry spirit had limited his vengeance to the seven Lin Kuei who killed him.

Too bad.

* * *

**end section one of part one**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	2. Part 1 Section 2

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 1 of 4: Section 2** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive (it will be in my profile)**  
**Part 1 **

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" shouted the shadow who had once been a man. He made a slashing gesture with his hands; the snake-demon and the armored devil responded with a dual attack. The blunt side of two radiant blue claws crushed hard against my abdomen. A different set of sharper claws dug into my back, slicing through the thick fabric of my uniform as effortlessly as they pierced my skin, yet purposefully stopping short of puncturing my vital organs. The living shadow made another gesture, as if grasping an invisible object, and his creatures moved to restrain me. They each held one of my arms spread apart, low enough to force me to my knees.

"Don't EVER call me that again!" snapped the living shadow, whipping a backhand strike to my face. I became limp, allowing the stinging impact to flow through me. "I'll let you off easy _once_, but say that again and orders be damned I'll KILL you!" He lashed out again with his other hand. One of my teeth came loose. A detached part of myself marveled at how a single word could provoke so much rage. The human shadow's breathing was intensely labored, and a growling animal quiver underscored his voice. "My name is Noob Saibot. Remember it."

"'Noob Saibot'...?"

"Don't ask. Don't even think of asking."

"Less than a minute ago you were advocating the opposite. You said you would answer three questions, so here they are: Are you a ghost? Were you once a Lin Kuei? Are the stories about you true?"

The rakshasa's ears flicked forward. Saibot's solid black head lacked facial expressions, yet I could tell from his posture that he was taken aback. "What difference does it make?"

"Because if you are a rogue Lin Kuei, then you're the first who has lived to tell about it."

"Oh, I see. You think you can restore your clan's honor by assassinating me, is that it?"

"No."

He stared at me, if his featureless visage had eyes to stare with. "Never mind. Start over. I'm in charge here, and I'm going to answer what you _should_ have asked, you blithering idiot.

"Welcome to Limbo, Sub-Zero. No, you're not dead yet, but just you wait.

Limbo is the infinitely recurring no man's land sifting within the great void between worlds. It is a vast Möbius strip, eternally twisting upon itself." The strange phrases he used nagged at me; they kindled a memory that darted beyond my conscious grasp. "You're trapped here, forever. Your soul can't leave without a living body to carry it, and nothing mortal survives here for long. If you perish in Limbo... well, I'll let you guess what happens to your soul. Don't say I didn't warn you.""

Saibot casually unearthed a human skull from the sands and dusted it off. "For every path into Limbo there is a way out; however, some roads are more accessible than others. My friends and I can leave anytime we want, and if you don't come with us, there's only one other route: you'd have to climb down the canyon, cross Blood River, and scale the other side.

"Of course, you could take the quick way down." Saibot gracefully pitched the skull over the edge of the precipice. I never heard it strike anything solid. "Trouble is, once you get there you're not in any shape to climb back up. Anything else you'd like to know?"

"How can you withstand the sunlight?"

"Haven't you listened to a word I've said?" snapped the living shadow. "This is Limbo! You are inconceivably distant from your home, and the precious Sun it orbits! Shandra, rip some sense into this imbecile." The rakshasa lunged forward. There was no warning growl, only the slash of claws carving deep welts across my cheek and lips. The attack came so fast that I did not feel it until it was over. At least now I could breathe freely, through the rents in my mask. The rakshasa placidly licked my blood off its paw.

"Good kitty-girl. Nice kitty," Saibot praised, rubbing the cat's neck. Her ears swiveled back, and her tail lashed from side to side. "Shandra is one of the best. She's all fury! I couldn't ask for a better escort. Now, back to business. You need to get home. We'd like to help you."

"This is what you consider 'help'?" I spat through bleeding lips.

"Shandra!" The rakshasa's claws dug three shallow gashes on my right shoulder. "I shouldn't have to waste my time on threats, Subby, but there ought to be something in you worth salvaging. You are supposed to be one of the Lin Kuei's finest," he sneered, inflecting a heavy dose of sarcasm in the words. "Even though you failed Ultratech."

"Shang Tsung is dead."

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

"A technicality."

For a moment, he appeared ready to sic the rakshasa on me once more. Then his stance shifted a little, the only visible evidence of his change in mood. "Fine. Cling to your silly misconceptions. See if I care. It's all beside the point, anyway.

Without us you're doomed. You can't escape on your own. Do you think crossing Limbo is some pleasant nature walk? Death waits for you in that canyon! Seven obstacles bar your path. Even if you could get past the first six, the seventh is always an inescapable trap where only that which you have loved can save you. So tell me, Subby, how's your love life?"

There was no point in providing him with an answer.

"I thought so. That's why you should join us. We can get you out. Ultratech will have a place for you. You'll learn to like us. We're all one big, happy family." I heard a faint hissing sound; it was drool from the snake-demon, dripping on the fabric of my uniform and slowly eating it away.

"I reject your offer," I said, and let loose all the Power that I'd been gathering during the last minute.

The Ice coursed through my blood and out of my hands, enveloping the two demons that held me and freezing them fast. They would remain paralyzed for a few seconds before their natural warmth dispelled the effect, but for the moment they were like statues. I used their hold on my arms as a gymnast's grip upon parallel bars, bracing my weight for a full forward kick with both feet. Despite Saibot's insubstantial appearance, my strike connected with a very solid jawbone. He went down. I refocused the power to coat my own wrists with a slippery film of cool water, at the same time working the thumbs' metacarpal bones underneath the palms. My hands slid free.

"Sha- Shandra!" Saibot choked, still flat on the ground. With a high-pitched scream, the golden rakshasa charged directly into another blast of Power. The Ice temporarily nullified her momentum, immobilizing her in mid-spring. It wouldn't hold her for long, though. To make matters worse, the other two demons were returning to life, and Saibot was clambering back to his feet. I dashed past all of them, sprinting along the precipice.

"Fool!" yelled Saibot. "Do you really think you can run from us?" A high-pitched, mechanical whine and a heavy, lumbering tread dogged my heels. My inhuman pursuers were gaining on me. I looked directly ahead and saw nothing but flatland and bones. Beyond the precipice's edge was a sharp, nearly vertical slope of layered rock. There was only one option.

I leaped over the side.

* * *

There was no way I could have avoided the path that the Lin Kuei chose for me. Resistance, even suicide brings their wrath down upon one's friends and family. I didn't have much in the way of friends, and I cared nothing for the parents and uncles who treated me like an oblation, but I did have a little brother, born scarcely a year before my Test. It wasn't his fault that his home village was the property of killers. It is unfortunate that I wasn't present for most of his childhood, though that was because I didn't want my proximity to endanger him.

He was a strange one, and still is.

Blessed with a genius intellect, he could fix anything. Figuring out the inner workings of a mechanism and correcting its flaws was simplicity itself to him. Furthermore, he loved to design "experiments" and carry them out. He ran errands for farmers, assayers, tailors, and others in return for old pieces of metal or glass. What he couldn't barter, he scrounged from garbage cans, recycled junk, and his own inventiveness.

I remember the first time I entered his makeshift "laboratory." I'd heard about him being absent for long periods of time; when asked about it, he'd make excuses or say that he was "just playing," though none of the children his age reported having seen him. _It's probably just a stage he's going through_, I thought, but to quiet my lingering doubts, I tailed him unseen.

His trail led far from the village, to a rotting, abandoned old shed once used to shelter livestock during the cold months.  
Inside, cloth-covered cinder blocks supported rows of glass bottles. Several decanters held cooking ingredients or other chemicals. A collection of pressed leaves decorated one wall; a cryptic chart of boxes filled with English letters and Arabic numerals hung on the other. In the corner was a haphazard pile of thick textbooks. One such book lay flat open, to a page covered with English writing and diagrams filled with small crosses and hyphens. The sentences were indecipherable. I knew most of the words, yet they were peppered with unintelligible phrases like "pH balance," "litmus test," or "free-floating ion."

Little brother was completely absorbed in measuring a dense, colorless liquid with the consistency of heavy syrup. A protective shell of thick plastic was strapped over his eyes. He peered closely at the open book's pages for a moment, then filled his container to the brim, completely oblivious to my presence. It was rare for villagers to be more than semi-literate in any foreign language - yet here my brother was, reading Hell knows what in textbooks from Hell knows where, carrying out its cryptic instructions because Hell knows why.

"So this is where you've been disappearing. What on earth are you doing?" I demanded, taking away his vial. "This is oil of vitriol! Do you realize how dangerous it is?" I dumped the vitriol into a rusty bucket nearby. "Does our family know-"

"Aaah!" he shouted, turning away as the bucket erupted in fury. I moved to interpose myself between the stinging wave of liquid and my sibling. The thick cloth of my uniform shielded me from the worst of it, except for my bare arms, which suffered minor acid burns while protecting my eyes.

Little brother snatched a clean cloth from atop a pile of cinder blocks and applied it to my arms, carefully padding off the corrosive droplets. "Never do that again!" he admonished, severely. "That was a rinse bucket, big brother. Don't you know what happens when acid and water mix?"

Only twelve years old, and he chastised me like a schoolteacher.

* * *

**end section two of part one**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	3. Part 1 Section 3

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 1 of 4: Section 3** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive **  
**Part 1 **

The whistle of the wind quickly drowned out Saibot's expletives.

My only chance was to insulate myself against the upcoming impact. Huddling in a fetal position, I willed the Ice to completely encase me in a sphere, save for one small airhole near my face. Through that hole, I sent layer after layer of the Ice to reinforce the exterior of my cushion. The Power obeyed my mental commands as a paintbrush obeys its artist. I deliberately made the orb soft, more like packed snow than true Ice, though I'd never attempted anything like this before. All I could do was focus the Power and hope.

The sphere landed upon a mid-level slope and cracked into chunks. The violent jolt bounced me away and further down. I involuntarily skidded across loose stones, increasing momentum as the drop suddenly became steeper. To slow my fall, I dug my hands into the hillside and hung on, even though the skin on my fingers was being scraped away. At last, the land leveled somewhat and my battered body came to rest. I rolled onto my back, dizzy, in pain, and exhausted from summoning so much Power in such a short time.

A bolt of lightning cleaved the sky in two. Thunder roared in its wake.

I must have fallen through the low-flying clouds I'd seen earlier, for they covered a sky that had changed hue from orange to deep turquoise. The thickening clouds swirled in a tremendous spiral pattern, like foam on an ocean whirlpool. Droplets of fresh rain splashed on my face, washing away my blood. The gentle shower increased to a torrential downpour in a matter of seconds. More lightning flashed, coloring everything blinding white for a split-second. The whiteness gradually faded except for one small area, blurred by the water that splashed freely upon my eyes.

Squinting, I made out a floating figure dressed in white, ornamented with patches of blue and gold. His wide, cone-shaped farmer's hat cast a broad shadow over his face, pierced by the electric shine of his unearthly eyes. He appeared to be a mortal man, but even a dullard could have felt the crackling aura of his Power.

Through my Talent, reinforced with nearly two decades of practice and discipline, I can summon and control fragments of the Power. He _was_ Power, pure cosmic energy assuming physical form solely for the sake of convenience. Some people would call him the god of thunder. I consider him an uncontrollable force with an affection for rainstorms, which may well be the same thing. Given what he was, I shouldn't have been surprised that he survived Shang Tsung's Tournament.

Raiden would speak with you, mortal.

His words impressed themselves with perfect clarity, despite the hiss of falling rain and the rumble of background thunder. It was a level of communication far more direct and unambiguous than common speech.

"I am listening." My own voice was so torpid I could barely hear myself. It didn't matter; Raiden understood. He lowered his levitation until his feet hovered a few centimeters from the muddy earth, while I inched into a sitting position and examined my wounds.

A dark time comes upon us, Sub-Zero. You played a significant role in the setback of Shang Tsung's evil schemes; now, you are one of the few mortals who can thwart his current plans.

"Shang Tsung is dead."

No longer.

"I saw him die less than half an hour ago." The cuts on my hands were superficial, and the claw marks on my face and shoulder were shallow. The greatest danger they posed was the risk of becoming infected, which is especially high when one deals with animal scratches. I used the cloth of my uniform to staunch the bleeding while I gathered more Power, psychically drawing upon the plentiful rainfall. The Power is not itself water, but my Talent is such that I need to use water as a medium. I can usually extract what I need from humidity in the surrounding atmosphere, though it requires more effort in dry climates. Rain or any other nearby water source makes matters easier.

Time flows at constantly varying rates amidst the dimensions. Minutes here can be hours, days, or weeks in worlds such as the Mother Realm, the land you call home. As for Shang Tsung's death, you saw a great many warriors die in his blasphemous Tournament, did you not? You yourself died. Yet his unnatural thatamurgy brought a you and a handful of others back from the grey kingdom. Has it not occurred to you that he must have learned that spell from someone else, someone who could resurrect him in turn?

As a matter of fact, no, it hadn't.

Shang Tsung is merely the servant that goes before his master, Emperor Shao Kahn. Shao Kahn is the supreme ruler of another world, the Outworld, and he wishes to conquer the Mother Realm as well. He has invoked the ancient rite of challenge. Preparations for another Tournament have begun. You are needed. You are one of the few mortals with a prayer of winning Shao Kahn's Tournament.

"I never pray." Carefully, I willed the Power to coalesce upon my scratches, cleaning them and coating them with a thin film of Ice. Maintaining the elemental bandages would be a slight drain on my psyche; however, it would be much worse to let the wounds bleed, or become gangrenous.

If you accept Shao Kahn's challenge, I can bring you out of Limbo. Once his Tournament is ended, I shall return you to the Mother Realm. You have my word.

"And if I'm not interested?"

Then I cannot help you. Limbo is ruled its own gods, inhuman primal forces whose existence predates your kind by millions of years. The Divine Sanctions forbid me to interfere with the interior affairs of another god's world. If you are unwilling to become a champion of the Mother Realm, then your fate is a matter internal to Limbo. This meeting between us strains the boundaries of the Sanctions. I may ask your aid only once; refuse, and you will never have the opportunity to recant. The fate of the entire Mother Realm is at stake.

I finished dressing my wounds and turned toward him. "Why should you care what happens to my world?"

His face and eyes were empty, expressionless.

"Do you think I've forgotten the Tournament in which we so recently participated? I remember you, Raiden. You weren't interested in the fate of the world. You didn't give a damn about anyone or anything but your own glory. Your opponents were like toys to you, playthings to abuse and destroy for the fun of it. At the start of our match, I heard you shout to the heavens that you were bored with mortal competition, and thirsted for battle against other gods. Then I killed you. Moments before you died, you cursed my name.

"No, I don't think you intend to help me escape Limbo. All you want is to have me in your clutches, so that you can exact revenge. Your story sounds like a pack of lies."

I cannot lie. It is not within my power. No emotion of any kind colored his speech. Here was an immortal being who controlled the heavens, yet claimed to be incapable of something the lowliest street pickpocket could do.

"Convince me, then." I unsteadily teetered to my feet. Though Raiden hovered close to the earth, his tall frame towered above my head. My neck was starting to hurt from looking up. "Tell me the truth: why are you so eager to save my world?"

If the Mother Realm falls under Shao Kahn's control, he will wreak genocide upon it. The suffering will be pandemic. He will absorb the souls of all living things and use them to propel himself into more conquests, and more, until he has sucked the universe dry, for the thirst within him can never be quenched.

"And you pretend that you can't tell lies," I sneered.

Shao Kahn's threat is quite real.

"Even if it is, why should you care?"

My concern for the Mother Realm and its inhabitants is genuine.

"Is that truly your only motivation?"

When I received no answer, I turned away and began to descend along the canyon's slope. Before my fifth step, a jagged streak of lightning shot down from the sky and pierced the ground in front of me, causing it to erupt in a shower of dirty water and mud.

Do you think to walk away from a god? An arrogant crackle of the Raiden I remembered tinged the reprimand.

"Yes, I do, and you cannot stop me - unless your speech about 'Divine Sanctions' was indeed a lie." I resumed my downward trek.

Come back here at once!

I did not slow down.

Wait.

I did not look back.

Please.

The word sounded so bizarre, coming as it did from the mouth of a god, that I stopped in place.

There is another reason for my personal involvement. The flashes of lightning ceased, as did the pervasive echo of thunder.

Only the hiss of falling rain remained, and even that lessened to a modest shower. I am afraid.

"You? Afraid?"

Yes.

"Why?"

When Shang Tsung invited me to participate in his Tournament, I feared nothing. I agreed to enter his domain and fight under his rules, without fully understanding what that meant. It meant accepting the weaknesses of a mortal, vulnerability, and death. Now that I know what it is like to suffer, I do not care to repeat the experience, though I may have little choice in the matter. I am a god of the Mother Realm. Its fate is my fate. The Mother Realm's inhabitants are as much a part of it as the earth, sea, and sky, and so they are a part of me as well. There was a time when I did not know that.

Beneath layers of hardened skepticism, past thick walls of distrust, a small part of me rebelled against my cynical tendencies and gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Seek out Smoke, of the Lin Kuei clan. Ask his help. Tell him that I sent you; he owes me. Mention the name Pyre, and he will understand."

As you suggest. Will you come and fight for the Mother Realm?

"No. What has the Mother Realm ever done for me?"

Do you prefer to perish, body and soul, in Limbo?

"It is not that simple. In my line of work, survival is a credit to one's skill, and I have vowed not to share that credit with another. That is why I shall never accept your offer. I shall find the way out of Limbo on my own, or not at all. No one, _no one_ shall trade me rescue for a piece of my honor. I will not allow it."

Shang Tsung resurrected you. You owe your continued survival to him.

"Shang Tsung has no honor," I admonished, allowing a hint of warning to enter my voice. "He had his own reasons for reviving me, none of which had anything to do with concern for my welfare. I owe him nothing."

He has not forgotten the role you and the Tournament's other survivors played in his downfall. Heed my warning: Shao Kahn has granted the sorcerer more power than ever, which he may use to track you down. Even if he does not, you cannot survive here for long. You will eventually tire, and those who fall asleep in Limbo do not awaken as living beings. Death resides upon these inhospitable grounds.

"Perhaps."

Farewell, Sub-Zero. I would wish you luck, if the wishes of a god had any meaning upon another god's world. His luminous form became brighter, uniformly white, until its sparkling outline diffused into nothingness. The shower had lessened to a drizzle. Soon that was also gone. The swirling wheel of clouds remained in the sky, blotting out the sun.

* * *

Smoke began my Lin Kuei training as soon as my burns healed. Through hard work and experience, I learned many things: how to strengthen my muscles and stretch my endurance, how to move unobserved, how to utilize my body as a perfectly controlled weapon, and how to kill.

Killing wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.

Physical exercises are tedious. No-quarter sparring can be dangerous. Moving silently is not as easy as it looks. Invisibility is a subtle art, requiring a different approach in the context of a thousand changing circumstances. But the actual killing? It's little more than a motion with a knife, or a firm twist of another's head. I don't know why I thought it would be so difficult.

Perhaps I expected to feel something, the first time I assassinated a man. I didn't. I've never had any true "feelings" since my Test. Despite the reputation I have earned, I take no pride or satisfaction in my work. There is no one whom I care about. I have a familial obligation to my younger brother, but that is not the same thing.

Just once, I would like to laugh. I'm almost certain that I used to. I wish I could remember what it was like. Even if joy and passion are forever denied to me, I would settle for knowing pain. I do not mean ordinary physical pain, of course, but rather what it is to be lonely, or sad. Isolation has been my way of life for so long, I cannot recall any other state. Though I can project rivulets of super-chilled water from my hands, my eyes have been dry for as long as I've been what I am. Whatever the experience of heartbreak may be, it cannot be worse than to have one's heart frozen stiff and still, forever.

* * *

Limbo is a grotesque place.

The canyon's side flattened into a mesa, though I estimated that I was still a good distance away from its bottom. There was no wind, yet the cloud vortex above moved fast enough that my eyes could track its counterclockwise spiral. The sky seemed to become a darker shade of blue with every passing second. Matching the decrease in light from above was an eerie crimson radiance from the ground. Most of the land was a dusty or gravelly reddish-brown, riddled with bright maroon cracks and patches. Heat as well as light escaped the many crevices, evaporating the rainwater from my clothing. These rifts were quite narrow, so that the greatest threat they posed was that of tripping over them, yet they made me uneasy.

Surrounding me was a wide, barren stretch of flatland. A thin line of mounds formed a landmark at the mesa's far edge. Quickening my pace to a steady jog, I fixed my attention upon the gap between two of the tallest hills and set a straight course for it.

Halfway there, I felt the ground tremble beneath my feet. Something massive lay ahead. The closer I approached, the heavier the tremors became. By the time I reached the mounds, inhuman screams and roars filled the air. The shrill outcries were loud enough to make my head hurt. Creating a pair of Ice earplugs helped a little.

Now I was close enough to see that the mounds were not formed of earth or rock, as I'd previously assumed. They were huge stacks of dead carcasses. Here and there I spotted what might have been human remains, but most of the bodies belonged to large animals. Many of them were relatively fleshless. Forked sticks emerged from the two mounds in front of me, propping up two long-skulled, quadruped skeletons the size of elephants. From what I could tell, the sticks were in turn supported by the tremendous piles of bone and tattered flesh that lay heaped around their base. A handful of small fires crackled here and there on the mounds, sputtering and giving off slight plumes of smoke. There were no carrion feeders present to feast upon the macabre spectacle. Even more strangely, none of it gave off any stench of decay. Perhaps I should have been grateful for that, but it only made me apprehensive.

Climbing over those mounds might not be wise. I couldn't trust them to hold my weight. If my footing were to give way, and I fell within one of those enormous piles... Shaking my head, I stepped up to the only clear passage through the grisly heaps, and beheld what was making the earth quiver.

Two great dragons clashed, biting and tearing at one another in the gully framed by the monstrous graveyard. Both were covered with gaping tooth and claw wounds. No quarter was asked or given. The air about their struggle rushed like the whistle of a hurricane.

They were colossal. A man would have to stand on tiptoe to touch their ankles. The flesh of twenty oxen could have been their breakfast. Both dragons were wingless, walking upon their crooked hind legs and balanced by their lengthy tails. One dragon, colored dull ochre with splashes of royal purple, had diminutive forelegs and a head half the size of his body. Its sharp-toothed jaws could have crushed a house. The other dragon's scales were a patchwork of cyan and aqua, while its wide, flat head and folding fangs resembled those of a poisonous viper. As the long-jawed dragon lunged forward, the viper-dragon turned its head aside, flaring a hood with white markings resembling a stylized skull. Superimposed upon both dragons' physical presence was an overwhelming concentration of Power. Even Raiden's daunting manifestation paled in comparison. These beasts were more than monsters. They were gods in their own right.

The long-jawed dragon lost ground to its opponent, and the clash shifted to one side of where I waited. Beyond the warring creatures, more corpse-piles formed a sloppy far wall with a wider opening. Past that, the ground sloped downward and changed texture from rocky to sandy. Before I could study the view further, the viper-dragon staggered back into my line of sight, its hips bleeding from fresh injuries. The long-jawed dragon swung its great tail like a bludgeon, scoring a low rent along the far wall before it struck the viper-dragon. In retaliation, the viper-dragon's own tail snapped forward; a keen-edged keratin blade shot out from its tip, drawing a gash across the other beast's thigh. The long-jawed dragon bellowed a confused cry as it tipped over, crashing heavily upon the ground. Shockwaves from the collision unbalanced me as well. By the time I recovered my footing, so had the dragon.

I considered traveling along the outer wall of corpse-mounds, in search of another opening that wouldn't put me in peril of being crushed like an insect... but I hadn't seen any other gaps when I'd approached. They'd have to be very far away, if they existed at all.

_You will eventually tire, and those who fall asleep in Limbo do not awaken as living beings._

Raiden's warning remained fresh in my mind. No, I didn't have time to look for an alternate route. I'd have to get past the beasts somehow. Judging from how quickly the dragongods moved, how much territory I'd have to cover to safely clear of them, and my fastest running speed, I estimated my chances of avoiding them if I were to sprint across their battleground. The odds I arrived upon were in my disfavor. There had to be a better way.

A plan formed in my mind. It would test my command of the Power further than ever before, but I'd learn much in the process. If I survived, of course.

* * *

When I accepted my fate as a hunter, I decided to practice the art of killing in its highest form. In nature, there are animals that consume plants, predators that consume the plant-eaters, and supreme predators that consume other meat-eaters. This last, smallest group is said to be at the top of the food chain. So, too, was I determined to be at the top of whatever bonds cement serfs, landowners, and warriors in one great pyramid.

I hunted other hunters.

My specialty was seeking and destroying other assassins. There is no prey more challenging than a trained killer, and nothing less was worthy of my attention. I could afford to be discriminating because the Lin Kuei have so many enemies from which to choose. The clan is often at war and constantly in competition with other criminal organizations. My self-appointed task was to make rivals disappear.

There used to be a few who questioned my selectiveness, or even my loyalty to the Lin Kuei. As soon as I caught wind of such stray whispers, I'd announce that my honor had been slighted, challenge the rumormonger to ritual combat, and kill him. After a half-dozen such instances, most everyone kept their opinions about me to themselves. I maintained my position at the summit of the pyramid until two years ago, when Pyre ruined everything.

* * *

Placing my hands flat on the earth, I directed the Power to form a narrow ribbon of Ice in a straight path through the dragongods' battlefield. It was not easy to do, considering the heat that worked against me. The further the slick reached, the more exertion it cost to maintain. At times the dragongods would step on the Ice slick, cracking it and compelling me to spend more precious energy repairing the damage. My heart pounded by the time the Ice slick stretched all the way across the dragongods' territory. There was no time to rest, though; I had to implement the second step of my plan before the sweltering temperature rendered the Ice slick useless.

Keeping my right hand on the beginning of the slick, I directed the Power to create skates of Ice about my feet. My hands were trembling from the strain. Just as I concentrated a final burst of Power into finishing the second skate's blade, the long-jawed dragon started an offensive that caused the viper-dragon to leap away. The viper-dragon was clearly the lighter of the two, for when it landed the ground only trembled enough to make me sway. I kept my eyes on them until the cobra dragon ceased its retreat, then launched myself onto the Ice slick.

I hadn't skated upon ice since before my Test, yet my muscles recalled things my memory had forgotten. Hunching over to present the least resistance to the air, I propelled myself across the ground much more swiftly than I could have run. Off to my right, the cobra-dragon hissed furiously; there was a slapping sound, followed by a confused cry from the long-jawed dragon. Recognizing what it meant, I pushed off the Icy trail into a midair somersault, at the same time as the gargantuan beast slammed into the gully's floor. The earth and everything on it shuddered; parts of the trail cracked, but enough remained for me to land on it and speed toward safety.

The dragongods' tread came closer. I fixed my eyes on the gap in the far wall and poured everything I had into increasing my velocity further still. A few more seconds and-

-my skates lodged on something in the earth and broke into pieces. The heat had melted the far end of the ice slick into water, as I would have seen if I'd payed more attention to my path and less to my goal. I turned my fall into a flip, which became a spring, then a frantic dash. A three-clawed shadow darkened the earth around me. Diving onto the mud headfirst, I slid into the groove between the shadow's inner and middle toes an instant before the foot that cast it plunged into the soil. Mud displaced by the dragon's tread splashed on my back.

A serrated vise clamped on my head and shoulders, and I felt the giddy sensation of being lifted high and fast. Venomous liquid burned my hands. The atmosphere tasted bitterly foul. All I could see at first were pinkish folds of flesh, but then I glimpsed the forked tongue and hollow fangs near the flat corners of the receded incisors that held me. The viper-dragon had picked me up with its maw, and meant to swallow me whole.

I folded myself in half and brought my legs under and up against the viper-dragon's flat, low row of bottom incisors. The beast's head was tilted nearly vertical now; a last-second burst of desperation pulled me around and forward enough to grasp the rough scales of its lower lip. That lent me enough purchase to bring my legs in front of the incisors and push off from them. The slippery rope of its tongue touched me as I glimpsed the ground far below. To fall from this height would probably kill me, since I was too drained to cushion the impact with the Power; yet that was a better fate than being guzzled like noodles.

The other dragongod stepped into my line of sight, announcing its renewed fury with an earsplitting roar; it clamped its jaws on the viper-dragon's neck and shook its rival back and forth. I was flung into the base of a far heap of corpses. A dead horse's distended belly softened the landing. The horse's grinning, half-stripped skull dangled in front of my eyes. Winded but relatively unhurt, I crawled down from the grisly pile and darted through the gap between it and another heap ornamented with the skeleton some great, antlered beast. I did not slow my pace until the dragongods' outcries faded to a background murmur.

Only then did I allow myself to rest for a moment. My breath poured out from my lungs in a slow wheeze. My exposed skin was raw and itching from the viper-dragon's toxic saliva. I cleaned the foul stuff off as best I could, and comforted myself with the relieved thought that at least my hide was intact.

It didn't stay that way.

* * *

Of all the things I practice to hone my assassination skills, I dislike forms the least.

They are my favored means to rehearse balance and control of the body. Some are reenactments of past or classical struggles; others express the course of battles that might have been. When I go through each movement, I see the enemies before me, all their attacks that must be avoided or countered, and the shock of defeat in their eyes when they fall.

The form I currently practiced was a short one of my own design, based upon an encounter with three of the Ivory Claw organization's finest, known collectively as the Triple Razors because they never ate, slept, or traveled apart. No one knew where to find them. To draw them out, I'd threatened an extremely influential underground bookkeeper colloquially known as Sharkskin, who had strong ties to the Ivory Claw. As I'd hoped, the Triple Razors were assigned to protect him.

_Cast powder and spring forward, palm strike._ The primary advantage I'd had over the Triple Razors was surprise. I pressed that advantage with flash and smoke powder. If the momentarily dazzling light of the flash didn't blind them, the smoke powder would. It was a special formula designed to painfully irritate a person's eyes, unless they were protected by special lenses such as the ones I wore. Grasping a lungful of air, I plunged into the haze and drove the heel of my hand into a Razor's larynx. Nearby, Sharkskin coughed violently and fell to his knees.

_Turn, drop, snap heel out._ A disturbance in smoky fog warned me of the other two Razors' approach; I dived underneath a strike forceful enough to break bones, judging from the disturbance in the vapors. Calculating from where the attack had come, I kicked and felt my heel drive into the second Razor's ankle, knocking it from underneath him. The third Razor threw something in my direction.

_Roll, spring, cast the Power._ I evaded the missiles with a smooth backward somersault. The smoke was beginning to thin enough for me to glimpse the objects as I flowed into a standing position; they were a scattering of palm-sized razor blades, probably poison-coated. Make that definitely poison-coated, for one of them had cut the face of the second Razor at the fog's thinning edge, and he was quivering and shuddering like a fish in a net. The third Razor should have known better than to cast them blind. The effects of the smoke were wearing off, so before it completely dissipated I stretched forward my hands and sent the Power back along the blades' flight trajectory. He never saw it coming. While the Power kept the third Razor paralyzed, I approached and dealt a hammer swing to the back of his head. He slumped forward and collapsed, unconscious.

_Finish it._ Lin Kuei tradition has it that a form ends when all the illusory enemies are vanquished, yet in my mind there was one last, conclusive step. I used one of the Triple Razors' own poisoned blades to cut their throats. Two of them were already dying if not dead, but I take no chances. "Please," Sharkskin had gasped, watching me, "please, I'll give you anything you want, anything, just don't hurt me, please, I'm begging you!"

Someone else was in the practice hall. His position was the same as Sharkskin's had once been. He had approached silently; only the slight wafting of warm air betrayed his movements. Suspicious, I pivoted in place and cast the Power at the intruder. He leaped over the Ice, flipping forward and thrusting his legs in an aerial double kick that snapped my chin back and knocked me flat on the wooden floor. The tip of his spear pressed against my exposed throat. Small puffs of ashen vapor spontaneously drifted from various parts of his dull grey uniform.

"You have developed keen senses, but you are slow to adapt and rely on the Power too much," Smoke lectured. "You were fortunate that Sharkskin was nothing more than a bookkeeper. If he had half a quarter of a warrior's instincts, he might have assaulted you when your back was turned to him. It never occurred to you that his pleas might have been a distraction."

"Sharkskin was exactly what he appeared to be. I checked him out thoroughly before I used him as bait," I mumbled, my speech a little slurred from the trauma to my jaw. There was no point in asking Smoke how he'd learned the details of my fight with the Triple Razors, or that my current form was a reenaction of it. If he intended to tell me, he would have already done so.

"A man's life is a complex thing. All the checking in the world will not uncover every detail. You were fortunate," Smoke reiterated, taking the spear away from my neck. I rocked back and sprang onto my feet with a quick kippup. "Have you heard anything about Sharkskin, recently?"

"No. Should I have?"

"He has disappeared. My sources tell me that the Ivory Claw executed him, on suspicion of having set up the Triple Razors. Which he did, though not with conscious intent."

"Of course. People make better pawns if they never realize they are on someone else's chessboard."

A minute change flicked across Smoke's slate-grey eyes, accompanied by an alteration in the corkscrew course of the smoke plumes that wafted from his form. I waited for him to speak again, because I knew he had not come solely to tell me about Sharkskin. Smoke and I did not habitually exchange remarks as if we were friends. Lin Kuei do not have friends. Smoke was my mentor, and one of the few people in whom I placed a certain amount of trust, but the word "friend" does not apply.

"Lord Pyre wants to see you," Smoke said at last, quietly. "A messenger will soon come. I am here to warn you. Do you know what Lord Pyre has done to all who faced him in single combat?"

* * *

The slope of the path had become so steep that I had to proceed with care. I followed a trail covered with stone, shale, dust, sand, and glowing reddish crevices like the ones I'd seen earlier. My surroundings seemed to get hotter and drier with every step I took. The wind was stronger here, blustering from an unseen source. The gusts played with the loose earth so energetically my own footprints disappeared seconds after I made them. Some dust got into my eyes, making them itch and sting.

Time passed.

An ache started to spread through my muscles. I stopped for ten minutes of stretching exercises, knowing that if I were to pause any longer I might not be able to continue.

More sand covered the path the further I made my way down; eventually a layer of it spread a thick blanket over everything. Occasional dips and protrusions from the bedrock underneath slowed my progress a little, though I tried to keep my pace consistent. The slope's grade was in the process of flattening. I wasn't sure whether this was a good sign until the wind shifted once more, coming from directly ahead, and I felt a welcome sensation within the breeze.

Moisture!

I held out my hands to the dampness and silently called to it. Water is the essence of Ice, and Ice is the key to my Power. At last I had the chance to regenerate my depleted reserves. There was a tainted, sickly smell to the atmosphere in addition to its increased humidity, but I didn't care. Blood River had to be nearby. My journey was almost halfway over. I quickened into a jog, expecting to see the river as soon as I passed the next dip in the plateau-

My right leg plunged into the sand, and kept on going. I tried to draw it out, only to realize that my left leg was also sinking, and swiftly.

I'd run straight into a bed of quicksand. The dank, clammy morass reached up to my chin before I could curse my own stupidity.

* * *

**end section three of part one**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	4. Part 1 Section 4

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 1 of 4: Section 4** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 1 Section 4 **

Pyre's use-name refers to his talent: pyrokenisis, the summoning and manipulation of elemental Fire. The deep crimson color of his ceremonial uniform symbolizes the searing bonfires he can create at will. Pyre's exalted position within the Hierarchy meant that theoretically, lesser Lin Kuei could challenge him for his rank at any time. In practice, only one such duel had taken place in the past five years. I'd had the privilege of being a witness.

Pyre never had to touch his opponent.

As soon as the duelmaster signaled for the fight to begin, Pyre unleashed the full brunt of his Talent. His mastery of the Power was unheard-of in centuries of Lin Kuei history. He didn't need to channel it through his hands; he simply focused his gaze, and the entire arena burned. Livid orange flames ate Pyre's victim inside and out, pouring from his mouth, ears, and eyes while his clothing and skin blackened. He staggered toward Pyre, but didn't last two steps. The heat was so intense that some of the witness' clothing caught afire, and I had to help put it out. When it was over, there was nothing recognizable left of Pyre's contender. The inferno had reduced his bones to ash.

"Yes, I know what Pyre has done to his challengers," I assured Smoke. "Why do you ask? I do not want to be part of the Hierarchy. I'm not going to challenge Pyre, and he has no reason to challenge me."

"Trust your instincts, not Lord Pyre. Do not speak to him unless spoken to. Age has made him devious, paranoid, and easy to offend. He may take the most innocent remark or gesture as a threat to his authority. Be wary, and tell no one of this meeting." Smoke brought his palms together in front of himself, fingers pointed upward. Light, breezy wisps of Power flickered from his fingertips. The ashen plumes surrounding his body immediately thickened into a single swath that encompassed him and dispersed, leaving behind no trace of his presence.

Fifteen seconds later, Pyre's messenger approached me with a personal summons.

* * *

There was barely enough time to gasp a lungful of air before the ooze covered my head. _Quicksand is only sand saturated with water,_ I thought to myself. _I can control it. I will control it._ Focus was critical. The ache in my muscles, the sensation of being sucked down like grime into a sewer, and the shortness of breath in my lungs had to be ignored. Ice was all that mattered - the immediate creation of a large chunk of pure Ice, with a narrowed middle section so that my arms could more easily grasp it. Even as I seized the piece, I channeled still more Ice through my hands to increase its volume. Suspended underneath the amorphous mixture of sand and water, with my eyes blighted by countless particles, I was too deprived of my senses to know whether my plan was working or merely slowing my descent. My supply of air was running out, and my consciousness with it. I didn't dare pour any more energy into the Ice float, for now it took all the strength in my body and psyche just to maintain my hold upon it.

I was on the verge of blacking out when I felt a cool breeze waft across my fingers. Committing my waning stamina to one last heave, I dragged my head out of the depths. My ragged breathing was hampered because I clutched the Ice float so tightly that it put pressure upon my diaphragm.

I'd bought myself some time, but the heat of the sun's rays on my face reminded me that the Ice float would not last long. Did enough Power remain within me to freeze the quicksand bed? Creating the one float had been hard enough. If I were to overestimate the limits of my psyche, I might black out from the exertion, and that would prove my doom. Was it worth the risk? Would freezing only part of the quicksand bed be more effective?

_You have developed keen senses, but you are slow to adapt and rely on the Power too much._

And why the hell was I thinking of Smoke at a time like this?

* * *

Smoke's warning echoed in my mind as I entered Pyre's uncomfortably warm reception chamber. Almost everything within was made of polished black stone: walls, floor, sparse furnishings. Ornately chiseled patterns of vines, birds, dragons, and men adorned the walls. A string of small glass jars rested on a stone ledge. Each jar contained liquid and a blobby, flaccid thing compressed inside.

Pyre's rank far outstripped mine, so I kneeled and touched my forehead to the floor. I had no idea why he wanted to speak to directly me, instead of using an intermediary. My memory recalled a picture of him standing aloof while his burning victim writhed like a tortured snake. Pyre's uniform had concealed his face, hair and body; all I'd seen of him was his eyes, which constantly changed color in the unsteady firelight. They appeared bored, as if he'd done this hundreds of times before. For all I knew, he probably had.

"You may rise," Pyre said, graciously. As I did so, I noticed two Lin Kuei retainers flanking his either side. Both were clad in matching ceremonial uniforms tinted a lighter shade of crimson than the highlights of Pyre's outfit. "Sub-Zero, isn't it? Yes, it must be. Smoke has told me about you. You're still learning to control your Power, but I have faith in your abilities."  
What?

I'd trained to harness my Power for years. My teaching had progressed from straining to lower the temperature of a small room, to preserving a melting ice cube during the hottest summer months, then finally mastering the creation of true Ice at will. I'd graduated from Smoke's tutoring when I paralyzed him with a freezing blast of the Power. Did Smoke truly consider me a novice? Had I failed to earn my teacher's respect?

Enough of this. Pyre was speaking, and it was my duty to pay attention. I dismissed the questions from my mind and focused upon my superior. An uneasy feeling remained, and continued to worry me long after I'd forgotten the queries that caused it.

"Before I explain your presence here, there's something I'd like to show you. It's so extraordinary - are you still looking at the floor? Really, there is no need for displays of formality. Come on, head up. It's all right."

I did not want to disobey, yet my years among the Lin Kuei had ingrained the knowledge that lesser clansmen _do not_ make eye contact with the Hierarchy. I'd once known a fellow initiate who made that mistake. For his impertinence, he lost his eyes and tongue, had his tendons severed, and was pressed into the ranks of the Lin Kuei's slaves. The clan prefers its bondsmen blind, mute, and lame because this make them easier to control; in addition, it has the advantage of discouraging infiltration. All slaves must never wear any covering over their scarred calves or eye sockets, and must open their mouths for inspection at least once a day, to ensure that no unmutilated spy lurks among them. The Lin Kuei have many rivals, but few enemies would voluntarily cripple themselves on the distant hope of blending with the slaves.

"Still feeling reticent? Do I have to spell it out for you, then? This audience is private. Only my grandsons are watching, and they can be trusted. I give you my word that for the length of this meeting, I will take nothing that you say or do as an offense. Of course, you had better observe the forms outside these walls, or I'll have Ember here drain the vitreous humor from your eyeballs and use it to preserve your severed tongue." The warning was quite amiable, as if he were admonishing a child not to sit too close to the fireplace.

"Now, look at me." To resist further might have incited Pyre's displeasure, so I did as he requested.

The person in front of me differed greatly from the specter I'd once observed in ritual combat. Pyre was a small man, slightly stooped from age. For some reason, he'd chosen to forego his mask, exposing a wizened face creased with lines from every possible facial expression. His stiff, grey moustache was perfectly trimmed. He beamed with warmth and good will. Was this the irascible, easily provoked overlord Smoke had warned me about? What had happened to the basilisk-man that could cremate a person with a single glance?

Only one detail hinted that Pyre was more deadly than he appeared. His solid black bodysuit retained sleeves and gloves that fully covered his hands. All other clansmen with the Talent, including Smoke and myself, must have our arms and hands free to project our Power. Decorating Pyre's bodysuit was the Lin Kuei ceremonial cloth overlay, including the divided vest, frontscloth tied with a sash, and guards on the forearms, hands, and shins, all colored deep crimson.

"That's better," Pyre affirmed. "Now where was I... ah, yes." He indicated the black stone wall behind us. Ember stepped forward, tucking a stray wisp of reddish hair underneath his hood, and raised his hands. Rivulets of Fire flowed from his fingertips, splashing against the stone. When Ember ceased his outburst, the wall began to move with a dull, rumbling noise.

"Takes a minimum of five hundred degrees Kelvin to make it budge," Pyre explained with a wink. "This way, quickly, before it cools." He strode through the scorched stone opening, which pulsed with enough heat to make me ill. His grandsons followed. I held my breath and hurried through the gaping stone rent moments before it slid back into place, cutting off light from the chamber.

Pyre's second grandson rubbed his fingers together, bringing to life a small flame in his cupped right hand. He fanned it a little, gradually coaxing its glow brighter. His hand trembled from the stress of calling the Power. That and the wavering light of his tiny beacon were enough to make it clear that he was only a student of the Power, even if I hadn't sensed the relative weakness of his aura. Studying his smaller stature and the smooth skin at the corners of his eyes, I estimated him to be about the age of my younger brother. He was clearly no match for Ember, or me, for that matter. I wondered why Pyre chose to have such an unskilled attendant, even if he was family. Was there no one else in the entire Lin Kuei that Pyre could trust? And if Pyre truly was that suspicious, then why was he taking me into his confidence?

The tiny flame's light was just bright enough for the three of us to find our way through the tunnel and down the stone steps to which it led. At last Pyre stopped before a square iron door. Something was very wrong about that door. I felt a little queasy, looking upon it. It was riveted, with a tiny eye-level slit too small for someone on this side to peer through, but its most ominous feature was the metal box attached to the latch. A ring of faint bulbs illuminated the box, revealing a pad of Arabic numbers underneath the recessed outline of a human hand. It appeared to be a locking device, but I'd never seen anything like it before.

"You are about to encounter something amazing," Pyre addressed me, resting his hand on the door's riveted surface. "Few of our clan know this project exists. There are some who might be uncomfortable with the concept, so it is better if they don't learn of it just yet. The repercussions would be very severe. Do you understand my meaning?"

"Yes, Lord Pyre." If I were to tell anyone what I was about to see, I'd be tortured to death.

"Excellent." He precisely fitted his hand into the recessed outline. Lights flashed; a thin chime sounded. A voice too monotone and flat to be human said, _Identification verified. Access granted, Lord Pyre._ The door opened of its own accord, sliding to the side and disappearing within a slot embedded in its frame. At first, dim reddish lights only half-illuminated the room beyond, which had no other exits or entrances. Then Pyre stepped through, and an unseen generator hummed as ceiling lamps turned themselves on.

The chamber was a laboratory, and a very messy one at that. Mechanical parts and wires covered virtually every surface. Some were just scattered aimlessly, but most were formed into pieces resembling human body parts - torsos, legs, arms, or helmeted heads. The "skin" of such prototype members was a transparent plastic, covering inner gears, grease, and colored wire strands. A unique box hummed quietly in the corner. Its near side glowed with light, showing a constantly changing pattern of green wires bent into grids resembling three-dimensional objects. A large container with an insulated lid rested against the back wall. My sensitivity to temperature told me that it was a freezer - and the reddish stains on the floor next to it plus my sense of smell offered a clue as to what was frozen inside. To the freezer's left was a nightmare that has troubled my sleep ever since.

It was an artificial thing constructed in the rough shape of a man, with plastic skin, a skeleton of metal, and innards of pumps and tubes. Wires ran along its limbs in the place of nerves. Black, oily liquid greased its mechanisms instead of blood. The thing was only partly finished, lacking an arm and a leg. The forehead of its metal skull had been cut away; inside I saw empty space, save for the frayed tips of wires leading out from its neck.

"Behold," Pyre proudly exclaimed, "unit LK-4D4! It's not done yet, of course. You don't know how much it has cost to get this far. This prototype was born from the resources of entire corporations under the Lin Kuei's control. We are close to making the perfect - no, the _ultimate_ warrior! Envision, if you will, a Lin Kuei soldier that doesn't need food or sleep, that can see a gnat flying in pitch blackness, that cannot be stopped by blades or guns, that has the strength of ten men!" Eagerness flavored his voice. "The only problem is the central processing unit. We can't make one with the capability to function in every contingency, not just yet. We've tried, but the program invariably crashes within twenty-four hours of installation. Then I gave the matter some thought and realized that I already had the perfect 'computer' - it was inside my head all along!"

No. He couldn't mean-

"Just imagine it!" Lord Pyre hissed, stepping in front of the empty shell, which exactly matched his frame and build. "A tireless, ageless body superior to ordinary flesh in every way! We have the secret of immortality in our hands, Sub-Zero. Eternal life for the entire Lin Kuei clan! Our numbers have been steadily decreasing over the past centuries, but now we can preserve them forever! What do you think of that?"  
I thought he was a madman.

* * *

My arms were tiring. Droplets of water trickled down the side of my ice float, making it so slick that I had to lock my hands together to maintain my hold. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead and mingled with the melted ice, seeping toward the rest of the quicksand bed. Instead of dissolving instantly, though, the moisture pooled upon the quicksand's surface, separated from the denser mixture below by a light film of surface tension.

My intuition made the leap.

The quicksand truly was nothing but sand mixed with ordinary water. I didn't have to freeze it when, buoyed by the float, I ought to be able to swim through it. The "shore," where my sandy footprints gave way to a deceptively smooth surface, was only a couple meters away.

I rolled on my side and pulled my knees in slightly, bringing my heels toward my hips, then vigorously extended them apart and brought them together again. I repeated the scissor kick over and over; each motion brought me precious centimeters closer to safety. The viscous quicksand sucked at my calves with a _shlorp_ sound whenever they broke the surface. My slow progress could have been sped up if I'd used one arm, but I didn't dare compromise my precarious hold on the melting chunk of ice. The quicksand's sucking pull on me was far greater than ordinary water, and I doubted I could stay afloat solely on my own efforts.

The tousled remnant of the nearest footprint was close enough to touch when the narrowed midsection of my ice float broke apart. Resisting the urge to thrash, I dug my fingers into the shore. Underneath a couple centimeters of sand, I felt a rough, rocky surface and gripped it with my fingertips. I was sinking quickly despite efforts to keep my body horizontal, and to struggle would only have made me submerge all the faster. With what little purchase I had, I dragged my upper body forward and reached for another handhold.

All Lin Kuei warriors are expected to keep themselves in optimum physical condition. I regularly practice using my arms alone to scale nylon thread no thicker than twenty strands of hair, and the strength I've developed from such exercises serves me well. Fatigue and injury made hauling myself out of the quicksand pit more difficult, but my determination to survive carried me through. Fortunately, the ice bandages had stayed in place over my claw wounds, though the sharp pain in my shoulder blade warned me against trying another stunt like that.

My uniform was a mess, covered with the gritty morass. Now that I was out of danger, I felt the strength drain out of my limbs and my psyche, leaving me shaken and unable to conjure a single crystal. Yet I had to press on, and hope that the passage of time would help me recover. Before continuing my journey, I searched underneath the sand for loose rocks and pebbles. With every few steps, I'd toss a stone on the ground in front of me. When it appeared to sink too far into the sand, then I was very cautious indeed, and slowed my progress to a crawl until I found another, safer stretch to cross.

* * *

If it had been winter, I'd have retreated to the deepest snow-covered valley I could find. But it was spring, and the nearest source of snow was a mountaintop over two hundred kilometers away, so I had to be content with prowling the woods. I was restless, and needed to do something while I thought over Pyre's assignment.

Sometimes I practice the art of mundane invisibility through a more traditional form of hunting. Animal senses are far keener than those of men. Any fool can creep up behind a commoner, but only the quietest prowler can approach a hare unnoticed. It took a great deal of practice before I could come close enough to touch the hare's white tail with the tip of my finger - which is what I did. I kill people, not animals.

Pyre had told me to kill one more person, a member of a rival clan, within the next seven days. I should have immediately set out for the target's dwelling, yet something bothered me and I didn't understand what it was. Misgivings? This target was no different from any of the others. He was just another killer, and therefore my rightful prey. Wasting even a little time here was dangerously close to disobeying Pyre's wishes.

The wishes of a madman.

That had to be what bothered me. Memory of that _thing_ in Pyre's laboratory made me nauseous. He actually planed to create zombies of metal and grease; worse, he planned to turn himself, and possibly others into those unliving, soulless objects. He had to be senile. Though he had appeared healthy when I met him, he was indeed an old man who couldn't have had too many years remaining. Perhaps he was desperate to try anything, no matter how blasphemous, to prolong his waning lifespan. Sometimes I forget how tightly other people cling to this world.

There was one other, acerbating circumstance. Pyre's second grandson had been tailing me ever since I left the clan's residence. He tried to be subtle about it, and showed some skill, but not enough to fool the game that ran away long before I could close in. He could probably use a quick lesson.

I made my way to a brook with small black fish that darted just underneath the water's surface. Having chosen my optimum territory, I settled down and started to craft an Ice mirror from the stream's cool water. It took a little time, during which I listened intently for any movement from behind. None came. He was either unaware of what I intended, or better than I thought.

I gazed upon the finished mirror. By shifting its angle, I could peer around the trees he was hidden behind. My right hand casually reached to scratch the back of my neck, then angled toward him and directed the Power. He was far enough away that he could have dodged the attack, had he anticipated it, but apparently following me for several hours had whittled away at his vigilance. I approached him and waited for the Power's effects to fade.

"Next time you trail someone, be careful to stay downwind or at least crosswind of them," I lectured, when he was no longer paralyzed. "The scent of a human being is very hard to conceal when you are upwind. And do not wear your ceremonial colors. By the clan's honor, what do you think you are doing? That shade of red is bright enough for a blind man to see! Now, what do you want with me?" He turned his head to the side and did not speak. "Consider this: I could have killed you, yet I did not."

"If you had, you would have paid with your blood!" he snapped, glaring at me.  
"Perhaps, but you would still be dead."

He looked at me, strangely, and with apprehension.

"I do not have time for this charade," I sighed, shaking my head. "There is a task to carry out. Pyre cannot have charged you with monitoring me until I completed it; you are too inexperienced to be an effective observer, and too weak to be an effective enforcer. You probably thought up the idea on your own. Your time would be better spent practicing your disciplines. You have much to learn."

"I won't let you hurt him," he snarled.

"The target?" I enquired, genuinely curious.

"No! Grandfather Pyre. I don't know why he trusts you - something about wanting to forge an alliance between opposite elements, he said - but I don't! You'd better not try to harm him!"

"For your sake, I did not hear that. My loyalty to the clan is not to be questioned, and even if it were, Lord Pyre is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Do not speak of him in such a disrespectful manner or you'll pay the price, grandson or not."

"No. It's a trap, it's too convenient!"

"What are you babbling about?"

"Sub-Zero, the Lin Kuei's only living Ice master, just happens to be taken into confidence on the most perilous secret in the entire clan? It can't be a coincidence that he summoned you immediately after the Grand Council was in session. It's a Hierarchy trick! He doesn't realize how much they already know! You are their weapon. I've tried to warn him, and now I'm warning you: don't turn against him."

"Or?"

"Or I'll destroy you, your family, and anyone associated with you."

Brave words, from a novice who posed no serious threat to my well-being. I could have told him that an intelligent hunter does not warn his quarry before making the kill, and does not make a challenge unless he has the strength to back it up. I could have broken both his arms to emphasize the point.

Instead, I asked "What do you call yourself?"

"Sektor. Why?"

"I like to know the names of people who threaten me. It makes them easier to track down, later."

* * *

A shift of the wind brought more than moisture to my attention. It also carried a raw odor, warm and quaking with a salty tang. I recognized that smell. As I reached the top of a vantage point overlooking its source, my eyes confirmed the suspicions of my nose.

"Blood River," Saibot had called it. The name was no accident.

Coursing vigorously through the ravine's bottom was a scarlet river of real blood. The syrupy red liquid bubbled and churned, occasionally erupting into bright red geysers. It stretched for kilometers to the left, and curved around a bend to the right. Steam constantly drifted from its restless surface, masking its other side. Questions spun through my head. How did all this blood get here? Was it from humans, animals, or both? Why was it so smooth? Blood has a tendency to coagulate and decay, but the river's contents were as fresh as if they'd spilled out of a giant aorta.

The closer I came to the river, the more it throbbed with scalding heat. I could not swim across it. Though the river's grisly composition did not deter me, the prospect of boiling like meat in a cookpot did. By the time I reached its shore, my eyes stung from the steam; however, no tears formed. I have not shed tears since discovering my Power.  
A shadow appeared within the river-mist.

As it gradually drifted closer, the shape resolved into a low, flat-bottomed object with pointed tips, hosting a man-sized visage. A long, thin streak extended from the figure, plunging underneath Blood River's turbulent surface and stirring it. It was a boat, guided by a single poleman. I suppose I'd expected the craft to be made from bones and strung with sinew, yet I was pleasantly surprised to see merely an ordinary wooden boat, joined with common iron and painted deep red from stem to stern. The being within wore a long-sleeved, floor-length sable robe with a heavy hood drawn down, leaving only his hands visible. To my relief those hands appeared human, though strung with discolored veins and quivering from moment to moment. The poleman had to be very old. He gripped his staff so tightly that his knuckles had bled white. His pole was a little unusual, I noted, for it was gnarled and covered with twisting, brownish leaf stems. It looked as if it had been wrested from the bough of a tree.

The boatman halted about five meters from shore. His voice drifted amidst the steam, soft and rattling with the rasp of one who had overused his throat the day before.

"Fare?" He nodded vacantly toward a small bronze bowl tucked close to the boat's starboard rim. I couldn't see the bowl's contents, but I could guess that he wanted gold, or silver, neither of which were in my possession. I had nothing to offer him save the quicksand-caked rags of my uniform. Perhaps I could overpower him, and steal his vessel. If he came closer, I might be able to jump across the distance separating us, but at the moment he was so far away that the impact of my weight would risk overturning the boat.

"My deepest apologies, sir, for I cannot hear you," I lied. "Would you please approach a little nearer and say that again?"  
A chuckle dry as dust, gritty as sandpaper glided on the warm breeze. "No fare? Is okay. I still take you." Ripples spread out from the end of his staff as he withdrew it and plunged it anew into Blood River's tumultuous surface. With unusual strength for one so ancient, he used the tool to pull his boat's prow close to land. "All you do is take pole, yes? I tired." He extended the head of his long wooden staff to me. Drops of river-blood trailed down its length and dripped on the rocky shore, joining pools of sanguine spray.

* * *

The target lived in a common fishing village, which took five days of brisk travel to reach. I was familiar with Lin Kuei records about all known rival clans and cartels, none of which had direct ties to this remote town. Most black market organizations recruit from their home territory first, but it is not unheard of for a cartel member to "retire" in such a quiet, out-of-the-way location, provided that his superiors approve. Lin Kuei forbid any such practice outright. To join them is to live in their domain for the rest of one's life.

I wondered why Pyre had chosen to me to carry out this elimination. The target was only a lowly Tong hit-man. Retirement must have dulled the target's senses, for I never had the slightest difficulty staying unnoticed as I observed his daily routine. This was no test of my abilities - but then, Pyre had been under the impression that I was still an apprentice.

The target worked sunup to sundown mending nets, casting them out, bringing back his catch, preparing it for the market, and so forth. A woman with a small boy came out to meet him when he dragged his boat home. She wore a plain traditional dress, narrowly bound, and her hair was tied firmly in a bun held with long pins. The child was about five years old and a little shy, peeking behind his mother's dress until he recognized his father, and only then running up to greet him. They matched photographs of the target's wife and son, in the file I had memorized before setting out to perform my mission.  
I moved outside the village's perimeter and waited until well after sunset, then moonset, until the darkest hours when no common working man can afford to be awake. Then I waited some more. Every time I resolved to set forth, it seemed as though an animal cried out or voices muttered, and I halted. The sky began to grow lighter before I'd passed the first hut. I retreated, knowing that I had foolishly squandered my window of opportunity, and for what? Wondering about that distracted me for the next day, evening, and night, until the darkest hour descended once more.

My mandate had been clear: the target was not to greet tomorrow's dawn. Hierarchy orders are not to be questioned; only obeyed. Every worry that had buzzed in my head up to this point was dangerously close to treason. I certainly wasn't about to march all the way back and tell Lord Pyre that, due to my incompetence, someone else would have to assassinate the Tong.

The darkness had thickened to its deepest point. Memory told me that a humble fishing boat and net rested near the target's door, but shadows crowded them so densely I could no longer see them for what they truly were. I silently approached his modest dwelling, relying on the sense of touch to guide my movements.

* * *

I was about to take the staff when my eyes spotted a tiny motion. Little brown tendrils, which I'd taken to be leaf stems, connected the pole to the boatman's hand, burrowing underneath the skin into his bulging veins. They wriggled and pulsed ever so slightly, like the motion of a centipede's legs, as if to get a better purchase. A few of them had detached and waved toward my fingers. Instinctively, I focused a burst of Power through my hand, paralyzing the vile things before they could touch me.

"What wrong?" crooned the boatman, his shrill voice rapidly increasing in volume and pitch. "Afraid to work? Maybe I no give pole, because I very _attached_ to it!" He cackled loudly and held up his face. His head was a fleshless skull yellowed with age. Independent eyeballs hung suspended in the skull's recessed eye sockets. The boatman lifted the staff and his sleeves gathered near his elbows, exposing radius and ulna bones. Only his hands had anything remotely like skin attached to them, and that was clearly a side effect of the writhing pole-thing they carried.

"Sure you no step on board?" cawed the skeleton. "Yes, job is hard and food terrible, but tenure last forever!

Aahhahahahahahaha!" He was still cackling when a sudden geyser of blood erupted from the river's surface, forcing me to move away and shield my eyes. "You better cross quickly. Death wait for you on other side!" When the geyser subsided, the boatman was gone, though he could have been anywhere in the dense mist above the river's surface.  
There had to be another way across. I followed Blood River's bank to the right, around the curve and into unknown territory.

* * *

**end part 1 section 4**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	5. Part 2 Section 1

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 2 of 4 Section 1 ** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 2 Section 1  
**

**

* * *

**My retreat from the target's dwelling was anything but silent. Fisherman's blood moistened my hands. I made no effort to conceal my departure. Howls and wailing rose from the hut I left behind.

A puppy. The bastard had owned a stinking flat-faced puppy, smaller than the fish he netted, but with a bark loud enough to wake the hosts of Hell. He must have acquired it within the past week, or it would have been mentioned in his file. I would have known anyway if he'd let the blasted thing outdoors; gods alone know why he didn't. The damn creature slept outside his bedroom, and its keen nose smelled me before mine could smell him.

_What is it now, Pom-Pom?_ the fisherman had yawned, shuffling out of his bedroom. His movements weren't right; he was far too careless, not even holding a light or a weapon. I faltered. He followed the little animal's gaze and glimpsed my outline against the window starlight. _Who are you?_

It took one last burst of resolve to quell my hesitation and carry out my task. The black-painted dagger was already in my hand; he didn't move as I brought it toward his throat. That threw me off. I'd expected him to flinch away, with automatic reflexes even the lowliest enforcer must develop to survive, and he didn't. Instead of cleanly severing his jugular, I only carved a deep gash on the side of his neck. Sloppy.

_What do you want?_ he'd cried out, staggering back. _I have little, but if you want to steal something take it! Just don't hurt my wife and child!_ A gangster would have reached for a gun, a knife, anything that could be used as a weapon, but he merely stared at me when I stepped forward and inserted the dagger between his fourth and fifth ribs, angled up.

_Why...?_ He didn't seem to realize that his heart had stopped, until suddenly his legs bent like reeds. He slid down, and the blade withdrew from his chest cavity with a wet, sucking sound. That was when his wife's screams joined the puppy's barking. A child's cry could also be heard, blending into the cacophony. I dashed for the nearest exit, still holding the dagger. The little dog sank its teeth into my shin. Instead of stabbing it, I merely kicked it away. I kill people, not animals.

The noise seemed to follow me forever. Sprinting away from the village, I did not slow my pace till dawn. Only then did the truth of what I'd done sink into me, along with the first rays of morning sunlight. I stopped and sank to my knees, not unlike the man I'd killed. Time must have passed, for the sun was at its zenith when someone snickered.

"Pathetic. Truly pathetic." I'd never heard the voice before, but I recognized the deep aura of fiery Power. Of course Pyre had sent someone to monitor me; it just didn't happen to be Sektor. Ember had been watching all this time. "You're lucky those peasants are too frightened to mount a search party. A blind ox could follow your trail. You are unfit to be called Lin Kuei. I ought to execute you on the spot for your ineptitude. You'd be dead right now if not for your Power. I'd have a hard time telling Lord Pyre that I destroyed the clan's only Ice 'master' in over two decades, without the Hierarchy's approval."

My legs were numb from hours of kneeling, and protested my slow turn around. "The target was no Tong. He was nothing but a common villager."

"How long did it take you to figure that out?"

"Why did Lord Pyre lie to me?" I snapped, stepping forward. "Why did he want that man dead?"

"Don't question orders from your superior."

I struck him. He never saw it coming. Neither did I. It wasn't until he choked and spat out one of his teeth that I was aware of taking the action.

"On second thought, I'm sure Grandfather will understand," Ember growled, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. The ambience of Power coating his hands intensified, shining like a solar flare.

* * *

Light glinted a kilometer past the bend.

A bridge stretched across Blood River. For all I could tell, it was the only bridge in the whole of Limbo. Its thick, black posts thrust deep into the river's shores of clay. A second set of posts rose out of the murky blood-waters to support the next section, followed by another pair, and another, the rest of its length hidden in the drifting mist. The posts were composed of no earthly substance - not wood, steel, stone, nor paint of any texture. They were so polished as to reflect what little light found its way into this deep valley, and the ones in the river never lost their shine no matter how often bloody geysers splashed over them. As for the bridge itself, it consisted of planks joined by cables anchored to the posts, all made of tarnished metal. Halfway between sets of the widely spaced posts, the walkway dipped and swayed alternately left and right. There were no ropes or guards to keep one from falling off.

With my first, tentative step upon the bridge, I felt dizzy. My head hurt. The temperature had soared beyond sweltering. I'd endured the backbreaking desert heat all the way down; now, I had reached its source. I'd had only a short time to rebuild my psychic reserves since escaping the quicksand pit, but I needed to expend a steady output of the Power simply to remain conscious. My heart was pounding to keep up with the strain. My ice bandages melted and dripped away; when I tried to muster the effort to replace them, the thought darted like a confused fish, wriggling from my grasp. One thing was clear: if I didn't cross this devil's river quickly, I would pass out and never wake up.

* * *

_Trust your instincts, not Lord Pyre._

I was only partially aware of the journey back. Each day, I ran until the moon set; only then would I allow myself a few, fitful hours of sleep before jolting awake at dawn. It took three days to return, instead of five.

_Just don't hurt my wife and child!_

When I stormed onto Lin Kuei grounds, a blind slave cleaning the windows was not fast enough to get out of my way. I shoved him on the floor without breaking stride. I sent no notice of my coming as I plowed toward Pyre's audience chamber. He'd be there. He had to be there. If he weren't, I'd take the damn place apart brick by brick until I found him.  
_How long did it take you to figure that out?_

"Lord Pyre!" I roared, slamming the unlocked doors to his audience chamber open. He was there, all right. Sektor was to his left; two more black-clad members shadowed his either side. In front of him kneeled a half-dozen lesser Hierarchy members, and Smoke. A twitching irritation curled within me, the closest thing to anger I am capable of feeling. It was directed at Smoke and Pyre, but even more so at myself. I had broken my own code. Instead of stalking a hunter, I'd killed a common fisherman. The balance had to be repaid.

Now.

I held out my dagger so that its flat side, tainted with bloodstains, faced the others. "You have insulted me, Lord Pyre, offending my dignity." I bit off each word as an acrid sore. "You have lied to me, offending my trust. You have enjoined me to hunt a common man, offending my honor."

I turned my right forearm supine and touched the dagger's tip to the brink of my inner elbow, away from the brachial artery, and brought pressure down to bear. Holding the knife rigid, I slowly drew it along the edge the ulna bone down to the wrist. Thick red fluid welled in the blade's wake. Transferring the dagger from left hand to right, I clenched it in my fist and pressed my gashed forearm against my chest so that it crossed diagonally from my side to my opposite clavicle. A moist streak remained on my garments after I'd removed my arm and tossed the dagger before Pyre. It skittered across the polished stone, coming to rest by his feet. He did not glance at it.

"No," Sektor whispered. His grandfather motioned for him to be silent.

The old man chuckled. "A challenge? From you? If I wanted to waste my time roasting waterfowl, I'd turn the spits in the kitchen.

"Ember sent a report of your progress. Piteous. You wasted a whole day; far from being invisible you raised a ruckus that alerted the entire town; neglected to cover your tracks; and most appalling of all, you left _living witnesses_ behind. Perhaps I share some blame for overestimating your capability to carry out a simple task," he sighed, with a brief shrug. "Ember was slated to send another message yesterday. Pray that it speaks more favorably of you when it arrives."

"It will not arrive." Slowly, without taking my eyes off him, I reached within my uniform's folds and drew out a floppy sack of dark cloth, loosely tied with a sash.

"Don't play games," Pyre warned, his mood abruptly changing from disdainful to suspicious. "What are you talking about?"  
"Why did you order me to kill the fisherman?"

"You are rapidly depleting my patience." The air shifted slightly, and I did not have to move my head to know that more of his agents had the drop on me. "It had come to my attention that you were getting into disputes with other clan members, refusing to accept assignments unless they had a certain, shall we say, prestige? A truly loyal clansman must be willing to carry out any elimination, no matter how lowly, even if the target's lifestyle conflicts with what he is told."

"So it was nothing but a test," I hissed, "a test of my loyalty. For that, I cannot forgive you." I cast the sack next to the dagger. The soft _slap_ of its landing spread the flat sash, like the drawstring belt it was. The sack's dark material flopped open, though its further half remained creased like the flattened hood it was. Inside lay a short length of reddish hair attached to a patch of human scalp.

Sektor screamed, "Murderer!" and tried to charge me, but two of Pyre's black-clad assistants restrained the furious youth. He fought against them, wresting one arm free. A thin jet of flame streamed from his fingertips; it didn't extend more than a meter before sputtering and dying out.

"Get him out of here," commanded the old man, calmly. It took another two assistants to coerce Sektor's departure without physically harming him. Smoke closed the black stone doors behind them, cutting off Sektor's outcries and curses.

In stark contrast, Pyre showed neither outrage nor grief. His air of authority remained firm. He did not address me again, but only stared pointedly, analyzing my every detail. At last he knelt to pick up the dagger lying near his feet, without taking his sharp, bright eyes off me. A couple drops of my blood hung from its tip, joining stains of fisherman's blood and Ember's blood. He grasped its hilt firmly and made a similar incision along the edge of his left ulna, adding his sanguine fluid to the mix, then pressed his cut forearm across his chest.

In that moment, I think, I came to truly respect him.

* * *

Keep moving.

The narrow metal underfoot creaked and swayed with each uncertain step. Heat weighed me down like a millstone around my neck. To travel faster than a brisk walk could invite a fall. There were times when I thought the river's blood shaped itself into demons and ghosts from my past. _Fool!_ they called. _Hypocrite!_ _Incompetent!_

Keep moving.

My psychic reserves were gone; to survive, I had to call upon stored energy from within my physical body to feed the Power. The resulting toll was akin to maintaining a dead run, even though I took one, slow step at a time. I could feel the Power's protection ebbing away. My skin, already flushed deep red, began to itch and burn from the scalding steam. I tucked both arms inside my vest for protection.

_Slow to adapt,_ Smoke criticized.

_Truly pathetic,_ sneered Ember.

_Piteous,_ Pyre sniffed.

_Murderer!_ yelled Sektor.

Keep moving, into the flame and past the geyser. Ignore the voices, forget the strain, pay no attention to the burns. Keep moving. Nothing matters save to keep moving.

Was that the shadow of the other side? Probably not, just like the last three times I thought I saw the bridge's end. Yet the shadow seemed to get darker and firmer the closer I approached it...

"HURR! AN INSECT! DOES IT WANT TO CROSS?"

A painfully loud, deep bass voice boomed from directly ahead. The sound carried a peculiar dual resonance. Mist and sweat impeded my vision, so that I could not perceive more than a single great mass in front of me. The bridge was too narrow to move around him. His heavy, panting breath came in paired gasps.

"WELL? DON'T BE RUDE TO US, INSECT! DO YOU WANT TO CROSS OR NOT?"

"Yes," I answered. Then as an afterthought, "Please."

"OH? SOMEHOW, WE DON'T THINK SO!"

That and the whistle of rushing air were my only warnings. Automatically, I turned aside, freeing my arms and stepping back into guard position. A heavy object with wide, dull spikes cracked my torso. Vibrations from the impact reached my head, spinning it. I staggered and turned my momentum into a backward flip before I could lose my balance. My attacker followed, his great weight rocking the bridge from side to side. The mists thinned to reveal an ogre.

He towered nearly twice my height. Two hideous heads bobbed upon a single body. Each head had a short, conical horn protruding from the skull, a single green-gold eye with elliptical pupils, and a mouth so wide it stretched through the cheeks. Cracked lips drew against double rows of serrated, backward-pointing shark's teeth. His skin gleamed jaundiced yellow-green, the color of vomit mixed with bile. While his torso distantly resembled a man's, his sleek black legs were crooked and had horse hooves instead of feet. His elongated arms were thickly muscled, and each hand bore claws as long as their fingers. The right hand, claws and all, curled about the base of a huge wooden club studded with tetrapod iron spikes. The weapon was roughly the size of a person and must have weighed hundreds of kilograms; he waved it about as if it were a toy.

"HURR! COME BACK HERE, INSECT! WE'RE NOT FINISHED WITH YOU YET!"

The hell you say.

* * *

As the challenged party, Pyre had the right of dictating terms for the death-duel. Predictably, he chose a weaponless match. Only attacks with the physical body or the Power would be permitted. The confrontation would take place at midnight tomorrow, in an underground stone chamber reserved exclusively for the purpose.

Death-duels are not the same as assassinations. Though both have the intent of killing, in an ideal assassination the target dies before he is aware of being attacked. It is not always possible to surprise the target in this manner, but it is preferable. In a Lin Kuei death-duel, the contest must begin on equal terms. Enforcing these rules are a single Overseer and four Watchers, those who have mastered the Power of Invisibility. The Watchers observe, and if either contestant attacks before the Overseer's beckon or uses an unsanctioned weapon, they kill him. While there is no dishonor in losing a duel, an ignominious death at the hands of the Watchers inevitably brings shame and slaughter to the rulebreaker's family.

I had survived six previous death-duels by adhering to two general tenets. Rule One: Preparation. Study your opponent. Know him well. Internalize his strengths, weaknesses, and how they compare against your own. Rehearse in body and mind tactics to counter those you expect him to use, and be ready to improvise if he uses unexpected tactics. Have some idea of what you will actually do before you are thrust in a closed ring with someone determined to end your life.

Rule Two: _Never_ forget Rule One.

I found Smoke at his personal practice grounds, sparring with one of his pupils. The student carried wooden mock-daggers; Smoke was unarmed. The initiate had a solid grasp of the basics, but could not change his tactics quickly enough to keep up with Smoke's constantly shifting attacks. Smoke's velocity inspires awe. When he wants to, he can glide across ground as if carried by wind spirits; yet his movements are not rushed. He masters every turn, thrust, parry and dodge with consummate grace. Sometimes I wonder if his perfectly-controlled acceleration is fueled by his Power.

At one point Smoke's rhythm skipped a beat. He stopped short and skidded on one knee. To the casual eye, he appeared to have stumbled. I knew better. His stance was too relaxed and alert for someone preoccupied with resuming his equilibrium; furthermore, I'd seen him act that way before, back when I was holding the wooden daggers. Smoke's adversary faced him full forward and covered the distance between them in two long steps. He thrust in the middle of the second step, aiming for the neck. Braced on hands and knees, Smoke kicked his pupil's shin out from under him, before he could put his full weight on it. The student's attack went wide, and he fell on his face.

"Do not surrender your balance," Smoke instructed, "because with it, you surrender control. Keep your center of your gravity low to the ground at all times, especially when you close in on a seemingly weakened foe." The pupil looked at the floor, shamefaced. "One more thing. _Never_ lower your eyes to an enemy!"

Smoke's hand seemed barely to graze the student's forehead. The initiate's body sagged and went limp in his arms. He set his unconscious pupil down gently.

"Tell me about Pyre," I demanded.

Smoke did not make eye contact. "You and I should not be seen together. Is there no one you can trust to discreetly carry a message?"

"I did not come to discuss trust. I charge you to tell me all you know about Pyre, right here, right now."  
"And if I decline?" Smoke mused. His face was expressionless, but his body turned to the side, knees slightly bent, at once both at ease and ready to snap into action.

"Then once I am done with Pyre, I shall challenge you next." He did not appear intimidated. That was to be expected; Lin Kuei do not let fear hinder their countenance.

The teacher inclined his head and spoke. "Pyre is the direct descendent of one of the Lin Kuei's founding members. He has earned the rank of honored Second Tier veteran, and is the oldest Hierarchy member currently living. In his younger days, his temper matched his name. Time changed that. He is no longer as quick to destroy those who offend him. Some think this means he had grown weak. They are wrong. Pyre crushes his enemies as thoroughly as ever, but age has given him the wisdom to hold back until he is certain he has no other use for them." Smoke went on to describe Pyre's personality, habits, history, and most importantly, his fighting tactics.

Concentrating upon the information, I listened until he had nothing more to say. Then I bowed, without taking my eyes off him. "I shall see you again, after the duel."

"Assuming you survive," he returned dryly, with a similar bow.

"I will."

"And if you don't?"

"Then I'll see you in Hell."

* * *

As I retreated, I twisted the guards on the backs of my hands around. The ogre swung his club again; I dodged with a handspring. Thick guard-pads shielded my hands, though my fingertips came in contact with the heated metal bridge. Tiny, searing needles punctured each digit. I turned my next flip into a fully aerial somersault, with a half-twist in the middle to land facing the other way. Touching down in a crouch, I accelerated into a sprint.

"YOU WON'T GET AWAY THAT EASILY, INSECT!" The bridge whipped with the pounding _clip-clop_ of hooves. He was pursuing me at full tilt. Good. I waited until I could feel the jangling hoof-tremors barely two meters behind my back, flipped forward to expend some of my own momentum, and pivoted about upon landing. If there'd been enough Power left within me to immobilize the ogre, I'd have done so, but my psyche was too exhausted to call more than a trickle. Instead, I thrust my heel out in a full-force side kick.

It should have worked.

Lured into high speed pursuit, the ogre should have run straight into an attack strong enough to shatter the joint of his right knee. His horse-legs already looked too frail and crooked to support the hulking mass of his torso. But my foot came into contact with an iron spike instead of skin and bone. Metal tore through the leather of my footwear and punctured my skin. A crackling shock of pain coursed through my leg, pain that had to be ignored. A clammy tingling followed. There was Power in that club; I'd have felt it sooner if I hadn't been so overwhelmed by the heat.

How could the ogre have reacted so quickly? His inertia was too great; at the speed he'd been moving, he couldn't have come to a dead halt in mid-stride. He appeared far too heavy and ungainly, yet his lengthy arms had swung down the club with instantaneous speed and grace that reminded me of Smoke. Perhaps I should have used a faster, snapping kick instead of going for the raw power of a full turn and thrust.

The ogre brought his elbow down toward my extended leg. He would have shattered my femur if I hadn't once more thrown myself into a back handspring. I collapsed to my knees when my injured foot touched the bridge, and its heat burned through the rent in my footwear. Some of my blood sizzled on the metal slats and dripped through its cracks, joining the contents of Blood River.

My enemy rushed forward and swung his deadly weapon before I could stand. The club's iron ribbing loomed before me; for one tiny, timeless moment I saw a close-up of one band embellished with the finely etched letters "UT." Then the weapon crashed into my face, neck, and midsection. Accompanying each hit was the thudding, internal vibrations of something cracking, tearing, or giving way. For the last strike, he held the club in both hands and brought it in an arc from down to up. Its spikes grabbed hold of me and scooped me into the air, hurling me like a flower kicked off its stem. Mist and river and metal bridge flew past my eyes. I landed on the bridge's edge.

The ogre roared and repeatedly pounded one hoof into the metal bridge, making it bounce violently. I felt my center of gravity roll over the side and flailed to keep from falling off. Agony wracked my frame. It was all I could do to seize hold of the bridge's supporting cables, medium-thick textured wires that ran underneath the metal plates and joined them. The handhold further burned my fingers; if not for my hand guards, I could never have hung on. The ogre's continuous stomping changed into the alternating rhythm of his walk, which still shook the bridge fiercely enough to threaten my grip.  
I strained to lift myself; when the bridge's edge touched upon one of my broken ribs, a crippling jolt of pain ran through them. Slipping back, I seized cables once again and dangled precariously. Heat clouded my head. My hold was gradually sliding out of my sweat-soaked grasp.

A pair of dark, curved things - hooves, I realized - peeked over the bridge's rim. The rest of the hulking monster was one great shadow except for his eyes, twin green-gold stars nestled within a yawning galaxy of steam. The monster boomed, "IS THIS THE GNAT THAT TEAM ONE FAILED TO RETRIEVE? HA! IT'S NOT WORTH THE EFFORT TO SQUASH IT FLAT! YOU'VE ALREADY FAILED US ONCE, INSECT. YOU DON'T DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE!"

The _swish_ of displaced air rushed to fill the void left when he raised his club, about to bring it down on my precarious handhold. What little strength remained in my arms would not be enough to withstand a direct hit.

* * *

**end section one of part two**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	6. Part 2 Section 2

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 2 of 4 Section2 ** **written by Victar  
Victar's Archive**  
**Part 2 Section 2**

* * *

Pyre's underground duel-chamber had been carved entirely out of a single bed of stone, or so it appeared. Slow-burning fire pits circumscribed the actual battle arena. Their steady blaze combined with the glow from torches set in the walls made the atmosphere sweltering hot.

I arrived dressed in an unusual manner. Rather than wear colored ceremonial attire such as that which Pyre had donned, I was clad head to toe in black, like a common Lin Kuei. My eyes were shielded with a smoky grey lens strapped to my head. Long gloves completely covered my forearms and hands. Pyre looked at me strangely. He knew that I could not channel blasts of my Power as an offensive weapon, muffled as I was; at the very least, I'd have needed my hands free. The old man raised an eyebrow. I could almost hear him think _Overconfident young pup_ over the crackle of burning torches.

Spectators crowded around the perimeter of the circle carved into the stone floor, their collective body heat further warming the chamber. Most of them were initiates or lower ranking instructors. Smoke was not among them. Sektor seethed in the far corner, poorly containing his agitation. No Hierarchy members were present, which was unusual considering that one of their own would fight the duel. The Watchers' location was impossible to pinpoint, yet the soft resonance of their combined Power remained, lingering like the barest hint of sea breeze after the wind has changed course from land to waves.

The Overseer stepped forward. He held a red flag in one hand, and a white flag in the other. He was dressed in nondescript black, like I was, with one difference; a ceramic mask painted to resemble the head of a demon covered his face. The mask's eye indentations were large on the outside, narrowing into thin slits the deeper they went in, effectively making his true eyes invisible.

"Take your places," the Overseer commanded. Absolute silence enveloped the crowd. Noise came only from the crackle and hiss of fuel being consumed in the fire pits. Pyre and I moved around the arena to its back wall, where a single concrete slab bridged the fiery perimeter. It was the only way in or out of the battlegrounds, unless one walked upon white-hot coals. Pyre stood at the circle's westmost point; I moved to the opposite pole several meters away. The Overseer stayed upon the concrete bridge. Now that we were both in the arena, he would allow only one of us to leave alive.

Pyre held up his hand, palm toward the Overseer, who bowed and stepped a pace back. The Hierarchy lord spoke, quietly, yet projecting his voice with underlying strength. "Let it be known that I dislike the necessity of this. For the good of the clan, Sub-Zero, you must be destroyed." The outward veneer of sincerity penetrated his voice and face. Perhaps his speech fooled the others, but he'd already lied to me once with that same expression.

When the Overseer glanced at me, I shook my head. This arena was a place for killing, not talking. The Overseer crossed his arms and raised the flags high. "Ready..." he called, preparing to snap them both down as he signaled the start of the duel. "Begin!"

With the roaring of an efreeti, the arena became an incinerator. Flame blanketed the circle. It burned, fueled by the strength of Pyre's will, sucking the breath from my lungs, enveloping me in a crematorium a thousand times stronger than what I'd experienced on the day of my Test.

* * *

Where hope failed, desperation clung. I pushed my bleeding muscles to the limit and reached with one hand, wrapping it around the hide and matted fur of the ogre's equine left ankle. His club crashed where my handhold on the wire had been, but now I'd disengaged my left hand from it as well, and held fast to his leg.

"WHAT? GET _OFF!_" He couldn't lean forward to club his own legs without falling, so he kicked, awkwardly, trying to shake me off. I dug my fingernails into his skin and called to the Power, sacrificing the last of my inner strength in a final gambit. The ogre voiced a cry of pure rage and jumped back, dragging me with him. My chest scraped the bridge's side. Wedges of splintered bone poked deep into internal injuries. Shock made me let go in midair and collapse, back on the narrow overpass. I couldn't have done it without his help.

The ogre's jump had carried him a few meters from where I'd fallen, facing at an angle to the bridge's lateral extension. "RRRRRRAAAARGH!" he yelled, smacking his club next to his hooves. "NOW, MOSQUITO, YOU DIE!" He took a step forward, raising his lethal weapon-

-and his left hoof, made slick by a single sheet of Ice coating its bottom, skidded out from underneath him.

His top-heavy frame careened back, matching the forward thrust of the slipped hoof, and he pitched over the side. His free hand clamped upon the metal slats of the bridge's edge, but they instantly twisted and slipped out of his fingers. I locked my own arms around one of the slats and clung to it, lurching with every rock and swing, ignoring the hurt of scalding metal, broken bones and bleeding skin.

Through the grooves between the metal slats, I saw the ogre thrash in Blood River. He'd lost his club. He screamed and stretched his arms toward the bridge, which swayed a scant two meters above his longest extension. The hiss of scalding flesh filled the air. He was not only drowning, he was being boiled alive. His flailing made waves, some of which spattered through the bridge's slats, stinging my face. The steaming river swelled about his torso, making it flush deep red. Then the river's blood climbed to his armpits, necks, and heads. One hand broke the surface for an instant after he'd submerged. It was quickly reabsorbed.

"Thank you," I spat. The ripples where he'd been remained mute.

* * *

A look of bewilderment crossed Pyre's face when I plunged through the flames and drove two stiffened fingers into his eyes. He'd expected me to be ashes, and I would have been if not for the concentrated layers of Power I'd generated underneath the fireproof suit that covered every square centimeter of my skin. The suit itself had served its purpose in hiding my Power's aura from casual study. It had taken twelve hours of meditation to weave a defensive sheath of the Power strong enough to insulate against Pyre's attack. Even that would have failed after another couple seconds of his inferno, but all the Fire vanished the instant I pierced his eyeballs.

Are you waiting to hear how I struggled tooth and nail against Pyre, trading blows for hours on end? I'll have to disappoint you, then. It had been decades since Pyre last relied on his martial prowess. The old man was accustomed to instantly incinerating enemies from a distance, not actually fighting them. Blinded, he had no means with which to focus his Power - unless he were to take off the gloves of his ceremonial uniform, something I didn't give him the chance to do. He was defenseless.

I tore my fingers out of his ruined eyes, formed a fist with my other hand, and invested the full brunt of my strength upon his skull. He sprawled on the floor. The listless manner in which he landed told me that I'd knocked him insensate, or close to it. I'd defeated him as quickly as he'd destroyed so many others, but the duel was not yet finished. I had to make absolutely clear what would happen to any who dared betray my honor as Pyre had.

Detaching the glove on my right hand and rolling up the sleeve, I bent down to grasp the old man's neck. He twitched and groaned as I called the Power, yet could not coordinate more than weak cuff of resistance. His lips moved to mouth three words, so quietly that only I could hear.

"So be it." He went limp. There were no screams, curses, or pleas for mercy.

A couple seconds of concentration was necessary to send the Power down beneath his skin, burrowing through muscles and gristle. It wrapped around his spinal column, severing bone and notochord more precisely than a butcher's knife of the highest quality. I yanked Pyre's his head up while it worked. His frame remained attached for a moment; then it slid down, separating from his head as his spine eased out of its body cavity. Bits of gore streamed down the incision in his neck, dripping from the lower tip of his dangling vertebrae and landing on his lifeless body. Maroon fluids blended into the crimson fabric of his ceremonial uniform. I held Pyre's head and spine up high, for all to see.

The Overseer dropped both his flags. One of the Watchers flickered into view, too startled to maintain his Power of Invisibility. Most of the crowd was wide-eyed, in stunned silence.

Sektor went berserk.

He charged with an animal howl, vaulting over the arena's fiery divide. I flung his grandfather's head in his face. That didn't hurt him, but it did distract him from the burst of Power that followed. The Power paralyzed him in mid-shriek. I took his left arm, holding its palm prone, and wound it past its natural stopping point perpendicular to his back. He regained his voice when his left humerus fractured from the strain. I drove my knee into his solar plexus. While he folded in half, I forced his head further down and repeated the violence on his right arm. Finally, I shoved him to the ground by the arena's fire-border. A corner of his uniform's fabric caught alight. Legs thrashing, he managed to roll over and smother the flame before shock overwhelmed him and he fell into motionless stupor.

"Well?" I addressed the rest of the onlookers.

The Overseer fell to his knees. "Lord Sub-Zero," he said, looking at the floor. One by one, the rest of the observers followed suit. Lesser clansmen do not make eye contact with members of the Hierarchy.

* * *

The adrenaline which had flooded my system ebbed away, so that I began to feel how badly hurt I was. I could barely keep my eyes open because some adhesive substance covered them. It was blood, I realized. Streaks of sticky red discolored my uniform. More crimson fluid trickled from my head and torso. A sucking chest wound interrupted my breathing. Steam burns scalded my exposed arms. One leg worked. The other felt stiff and numb, with a puncture in the foot; it wouldn't support my full weight. I couldn't stop to tend the injuries, or the heat from Blood River would kill me. There was no Power left to create Ice bandages, so I held the tears in my side closed with my hands, and limped toward shore.

Each step weakened me further. Blurring vision informed me that the shore was a scant fifty meters away, just beyond where I'd met the ogre. My throbbing nerves told a different story. Several times, I had to stop and cough up blood. Another spate of coughing made me double over when I touched the other side. I fell to my knees and vomited. There wasn't enough strength in my limbs to stand back up. When I tried, dizziness rocked my head and I fell flat. The jolt pressed my broken rib bones further out of alignment. From where I lay, I could see a dull, maroon trail leading back to the metal bridge and beyond. Remarkable. I didn't think a person could lose that much blood and remain conscious.

The thought of trying to treat my wounds had receded. Part of me recognized their nature and knew damn well that no improvised bandage was going to stave off the inevitable. The rest of me remained unified on one thought: press on. I was not going to surrender to Limbo. This place would not claim me while I still lived.

On this side of the bridge, a sheer wall of polished stone rose directly out of the sandy ground. Unlike the relatively gentle slope of the previous side, scaling this vertical expanse would have been impossible without specialized climbing gear, not to mention a healthy body with which to use it. The only place to go was through a huge, cavernous opening directly ahead. A whale could have fit through that aperture, leaving enough room for seagulls to fly overhead.

Framing the portal were the bleached bones of the most immense dragon yet. Its gracefully honed front limbs, each of which ended in three wickedly recurved talons, were affixed to tapering walls near either side of the entrance. Its backbone merged with the tunnel's ceiling. Two vast, bat-like sets of wing bones were fused with the tunnel's interior. Beyond, I glimpsed the skeleton's clawed hind limbs and spined, sinuous tail with a three-pronged tip. A many-vertebra neck with shorter, more slender barbs rested in an S-curve near the top of the entrance. Cresting the neck was a long, sharp-toothed skull with two smoothly tapered, backward-pointing horns. I couldn't tell what held all the bones together. Some appeared to be fastened to the entrance's walls; others simply hung in place, as if they were all part of a single sculpture.

Slowly, painfully, I struggled to drag myself toward the yawning hole in the canyon's side. I wriggled like a worm, scrabbling forward with my hands, then pushing with my good leg. At least the heat lessened the further I writhed from Blood River's shores, perhaps to as low as ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. Reaching the gateway seemed to take an age. When it was close enough, I stretched out single hand toward the tantalizing shade within.

Something hard and flat stopped my fingertips. An invisible barrier blocked my path.

My hand dropped, and my body followed it, gradually easing into a supine sprawl. I still wasn't giving up; I just needed some time to think about this latest obstruction. Perhaps if I closed my eyes for a moment, I'd be able to concentrate better. The realization that I was slipping deeper into shock fluttered across the back of my mind.

The skull moved.

My eyelids blinked open and shut. The dragon's skull was descending, guided smoothly down by that serpentine neck until its empty eye sockets hovered above my own. Something I can only describe as black fire sparkled, where the skull's eyes would once have been. Now that they had come alive, the bones radiated titanic waves of godlike Power. A sibilant whisper, quiet as silt, soft as soapstone, echoed in my mind.

_They will have told you that I am Death. You, mortal, are at my door._

* * *

My newly acquired retainers closed the doors behind Smoke as he kneeled before me in the polished stone chamber, once Pyre's, now mine by right of conquest. I sent the servants away with a flick of my wrist before addressing the teacher.

"You may stand," I said, graciously. He did so, keeping his eyes downcast. "I want to talk to you about - will you stop looking at the damn floor?"

He turned his head to the side.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it," I growled, annoyed.

"Lord Sub-Zero?" he asked, quite humbly.

"I am the same person I was the day before yesterday. I've killed enough people so that killing one more is not going to change me."

"My Lord, if I have offended you-"

"I'll say this _once_ in terms a child could understand. As long as we are alone, I swear you may look directly at me and speak your mind freely without fear of reprisal. Stop treating me like... like..."

"An esteemed member of the Hierarchy, Lord Sub-Zero?" he finished, calmly meeting my glare.

"Yes, like an esteemed member of the Hierarchy whom you arranged to be killed in a death-duel."

"In that case, allow me to observe how much you sound like him." Perhaps I'd been too hasty to grant Smoke freedom of speech, but there was nothing to be done about it now. "It is unfortunate that I could not attend the duel. I trust Pyre did not pose too insurmountable a threat?"

"He was dangerous, but he relied on the Power too much."

"I will also take the liberty of inquiring why you did not kill Sektor when you had the opportunity."

"He is not a hunter. Not yet. When he becomes one, he can challenge me to a duel."

"And if he decides to take vengeance on your family instead?"

"He does not know my true identity. I am the only member of my family to join the Lin Kuei. The others are safe from harm."  
"You are making a mistake."

"That is none of your concern."

"If you don't want to dirty your own hands with his blood, then there is a small legion of intermediaries at your disposal-"

"Is something wrong with your hearing?!" He fell silent. "Listen. I am going to tell you things. You are going to confirm or deny them. Do not attempt to deceive me, or-"

"-you'll drain the vitreous humor from my eyeballs, and use it to preserve my severed tongue?" My gaze involuntarily moved to the set of jars and their fleshy contents resting on the black marble shelf. They would definitely have to go.

"Stop interrupting and pay attention. I survived Pyre's wrath through the nature of my Power. Protective clothing alone would not have been enough to ward against his Fire. There were those who had tried; you told me that much. Only someone with the Power of an opposite attribute could hope to defeat him. Only Sub-Zero, the clan's sole Ice master, had a chance.

"Pyre lied, but before that he was lied to. You talked to him about me. You're the one who led him to believe I was a beginner, barely able to control the Power."

"True; however, nothing I said could have convinced him as thoroughly as the slipshod manner in which you bungled that assassination. That was quite brilliant on your part, leading him to underestimate you through a charade of pretend incompetence."

Yes, I had definitely been too quick to grant Smoke free speech. "_You_ are the current topic of discussion. Weren't you the one who brought to Pyre's attention that I was 'refusing to accept assignments,' unless they 'had a certain prestige'?"

"Alas, I cannot claim that honor. However, I did point that detail out to Hurricane and Toxin, as possible bait to lure Pyre and you into conflict. They could have passed the information along to Pyre in any number of ways."

"Hurricane and Toxin?" I repeated, recognizing two names of the Hierarchy's ruling Triumvirate. "I thought they spoke only to other Hierarchy members."

"Officially, yes. Unofficially, they do not desire to be sequestered. Knowledge is power, even knowledge gained from lowly unworthies such as this one. I meekly suggest that you share this observation with others strictly at your own risk."

"They wanted Pyre dead because of that thing in his basement, didn't they? Pyre planned to make himself into... into..."  
"Not just himself; he had the entire Lin Kuei clan in mind."

I could envision the horror. Pyre's Power was lethal enough. Combined with an artificially strong physique, he would have been unstoppable. Worse, there was no telling how long his lifespan might have been extended, if the frail flesh of his aging body were transformed into cold metal. None could have escaped his will. He would have destroyed the clan one by one, replacing each member with monstrous, mechanical things of grease and wire.

"Smoke, I understand that Pyre's removal was necessary, and that I had to be the one to remove him. But why trick him into tricking me? Why didn't you just ask me to challenge him?"

He chuckled slightly, more rueful than mocking. "People make better pawns if they never realize they are on someone else's chessboard."

The quote hung in silence. After about thirty seconds, Smoke's eyes shifted from misty serenity to charcoal unease. Perhaps he felt the chamber's temperature drop from that of a cool fall day, to hover well below the freezing point of water.

"There is one other reason I called you here," I told him, quietly. "I wish to make it explicit that _you owe me_ a blood debt for Pyre's destruction. It is a debt that I may claim from you at any time, in any manner I so choose. Is my meaning clear?"

"Quite."

"Good. Get out."

He left.

There was one last debt to which I had to attend, a debt that I owed. It could not absolve the stain on my honor, no more than Pyre's destruction could, yet it was something that had to be done. The next morning I set out in secret for a small fishing village, five days' travel away.

* * *

_This realm is not for living mortals._

The skull hovered above my motionless form. It examined me on a multitude of planes at once: physical, psychic, spiritual. It riffled through my memories as if they were sheets of paper in a notebook. Whatever allowed it to peer into my soul worked both ways. Inside the black fire of its eyes, I sensed a terrible presence old as life itself, utterly ruthless, the eternal nemesis of all that drew breath. The vortex in those eyes pulled at me. I squeezed my eyelids shut; the call remained, tugging at the corners of my mind. What was left of my will vied against it.

_Kill me if you must, but don't expect me to surrender!_ Even as the thought took shape in my head, I could sense that it was not going to harm me. It didn't have to. All it needed to do was bide its time. It waited for its due from every living thing, with the ageless patience of a force of nature.

_Why do you resist? What do you have to live for?_

It shook me to realize what a good question that was.

Why did I struggle to survive? There was nothing I took pleasure in doing. There was no one I particularly cared about. My brother? He was an adult now, responsible for his own destiny. Aside from a desire to protect him when he was younger, there has never been any true bond between us. Smoke? The closest thing I had to a friend used me like a gaming piece. The Lin Kuei? It is to laugh, or would be if I had the capacity.

Honor? I'd wanted to stand above all the other predators like me, but I wasn't truly any different. I'd killed a harmless fisherman, an act that made me indistinguishable from a common cutthroat. Power? Glory? Such things didn't matter to me.

What did that leave?

The presence above extracted images and words from my memories, replaying them so vividly it was as if I'd stepped back in time. One scene after another was reviewed and disregarded, until it reached something very recent.

_...you failed Ultratech._

_Shang Tsung is dead._

_You didn't kill him, did you?_

_A technicality._

Quivers of interest raced through the presence.

_A dark time comes upon us, Sub-Zero. You played a significant role in the setback of Shang Tsung's evil schemes; now, you are one of the few mortals who can thwart his current plans._

_Shang Tsung is dead._

_No longer._

The dragon skeleton, once dispassionate, had become intrigued.

_YOU'VE ALREADY FAILED US ONCE, INSECT. YOU DON'T DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE!_

_A second chance to do what?_

_To kill Shang Tsung,_ I answered. _Why? What do you care?_

It cared a great deal. Again, the link between the dragon skeleton and myself flowed in the other direction, and I saw the sorcerer Shang Tsung through its inhuman eye sockets. What it knew, I knew.

Shang Tsung was mortal once; to a certain extent, he still was. There was nothing he craved more than immortality. Thirst for everlasting life had consumed and corrupted him ten centuries past. It shaped his deeds to this day. He made deals with dark gods and demons to prolong his years. The more he dealt with them, the more he became like them. He hunted the souls of common mortals to appease his unholy patrons. They kept him young in exchange for his service. As time passed, they demanded more from him. Five hundred years ago, he took control of a Tournament of cosmic significance. He sought to pervert it and turn the world into the face of Hell, all so that he could go on living.

If there is one thing Death cannot stand, it is a rebel.

It hated Shang Tsung for eluding its grasp, long after the sorcerer's time should have come. And it despised his evil plans. Left unchecked, Shang Tsung's schemes would eradicate all life from my world; but without Life, there cannot be Death. Shang Tsung fought to overturn the Cosmic Furies' balance, a balance of which Death was a part.

That was when I recalled a very good reason to continue my struggle for survival. I'd committed myself to assassinating the most dangerous killer known to walk the face of the earth, more powerful than Pyre, more brutal than the entire Lin Kuei clan. I'd come close, but never touched him. My rightful prey was still alive, and I owed myself the duty to kill him.

Twin beams of liquid black jet streamed down from the skull's eyes. The onyx substance collected on my chest, gradually spreading until it enveloped my entire body. Its touch was cold, whipping like the blast of an arctic wind against skin soaked from a glacial spring. It felt wonderful.

The dark matter slid off me and vanished into the gravel. I felt giddy, lightheaded. Gone were the agony of crushed bones grating underneath my skin and the helpless weakness of lifeblood streaming from my veins. Sitting up made me dizzy for a moment. Looking down on myself, I saw new scars underneath my stained, torn uniform, where the gaping rents in my chest and abdomen had been. Incredulous, I placed two fingers on the side of my neck, and felt a solid, regular pulse.

I was alive. The dragon skeleton had healed me.

_You may pass._

It took a certain amount of effort to stand. Though my physical injuries had been mended, I still felt fatigue from my long journey, and my psyche had barely had the chance to replenish itself.

"I will not be in your debt."

_Death does not acknowledge debts incurred or received. My will falls upon all mortals with equal weight. It is my will that you enter, alive. Whether you shall leave is for you to determine. Remember that your soul cannot depart this realm without a living body to carry it, and those who sleep in Limbo do not awaken among the living._ The skull turned away from me, lifted by its lithe neck into the same S-curve position it had taken before. Its nigh-tangible waves of Power waned, while the black motes of fire in its eyes subsided into ordinary shadows crowding the eye sockets.

I reached toward the cavern entrance. The unyielding, invisible barrier I'd felt before was gone. I strode through, into the darkness beyond. My mind and soul were fixated with new purpose on the desire to escape Limbo, find Shang Tsung, and kill him.

* * *

**end section two of part two**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	7. Part 2 Section 3

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 2 of 4 Section 3 ** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 2 Section 3**

**

* * *

**My first official act as a newly titled member of the Hierarchy was to take a leave of absence. It had been months since I'd last visited my younger brother. His seventeenth birthday was approaching rapidly. I ought to be present for the celebration, or so I kept telling myself. In hindsight, I think I was just looking for something to do that didn't involve treachery or killing.

It was strange, returning to my former home dressed in peasant garb. The clothing didn't feel right; it was too awkward and restrictive. The long sleeves chafed like a pair of manacles. They partly sealed me off from the Power, a disturbing sensation that bothered me more the longer I endured it. I knew that calling the Power when my face was unmasked would be complete folly, but rolled the sleeves up anyway.

My younger brother wasn't home. He'd disappeared again, after finishing his schoolwork and chores. Apparently, he was hard at work on some big project, and very excited about it. He'd been salvaging scrap parts from every source imaginable for weeks now, taking them to an unknown place and doing unguessable things with them for hours on end. Little brother had even hinted that his ambitions might help him earn a respectable living sometime soon. He wanted to be a scientist. To that end, he was taking Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Industrial Design, and any other such courses he could cram into his scholastic regimen. His grades were excellent. Perhaps, if he got a scholarship, he could pursue his dream at a university.

I set out for my brother's makeshift laboratory, taking care not to be seen. I'd kept its location secret for over four years now. Little brother tended to be startled whenever I interrupted him at his work, but I did rather want to visit him. After all, if not for my service in the Lin Kuei, he wouldn't have had the luxury of choosing his own destiny. I wanted to see what he was doing with that luxury.

Dusk had fallen by the time I reached his secluded lab. Its windows were boarded on the outside, covered on the inside. The rickety shed appeared deserted. I knew from memory that the interior was lit up with electric lights. Little brother had even created a specially hot, blue-white light designed specifically to attract nighttime insects and incinerate them. Wires underneath the device suspended a removable tray filled with crumpled and charred insect bodies.

Since my brother was almost certainly in the middle of some complex experiment, I decided to enter silently rather than knock and risk disturbing his concentration. Picking the outside lock with a wire in my pocket, I eased the door open... and stepped into abhorrence itself.

Microscopes, mineral formations, and many of the old beakers or test tubes had been hastily stashed away in boxes and corners. In their place, wires, springs, electronics and metal lay strewn on every available surface. Several were connected. A few had flashing lights, powered by long cords connecting them to a rectangular box with knobs and crosses on a three-legged stool. On the central table, little brother bent over his work. He delicately guided a small, rickety blowtorch along a metal seam, his eyes shielded by a battered welder's mask. When I took a closer look at the thing with the seam, I felt something twist inside, like a knife cutting through my kidney.

It was an arm.

An artificial arm.

Its steel coating housed inner sheaths of tensile rubber. Blue tubes streaked across the underside in place of veins. One end tapered into a hinge-jointed wrist, then spread and split into a set of thin fingers. Soft foam padding was protectively wrapped around each finger joint. Little brother interrupted his welding for a moment and touched something inside the elbow. The hand flexed of its own volition. A surprised hiss whooshed through my teeth.

"Hm?" Little brother glanced up from his creation. Noticing me, he turned off the blow torch and lifted the welder's mask.

"Oh, it's you. Long time no see. Hey, what do you think of my science project? It's worth half the course grade, you know, so I have to get it ready by the deadline tomorrow morning. It- what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

When I stared at the thing in his hands, I saw the yellow-black horror in Pyre's basement. This place was a shadowy, low-budget mockery of that forbidden underground chamber. It was insane. It was an obscenity. Was this what my brother did with his freedom, while I tread the path of the Lin Kuei? Creating mockeries of life? Did he also share Pyre's mad dreams of merging his body with soulless machines?

"That thing you are making is evil." Revulsion spread through me. I held back the impulse to retch as I took a step closer to my brother and the perversion he cradled like a newborn.

"This? But it's only an object-"

"You will destroy it at once!"

"What?" A dismayed expression spread across his face.

"I am the elder brother. Do not question me. Get rid of that vile-"

"Are you kidding? I told you, it's my final project! I'll fail Advanced Electronics if I don't-"

"Do not worry about the class. You will be withdrawing from it, and any classes like it. And you're not going to attend a university if they fill your head with this filth!"

_"What!?"_ His grip on the corrupt device tightened

The disgust that had been building within me came to a peak. Before he could say another word, I lunged forward to snatch the despicable thing, wrenching it from his hands and dashing it against the wall. Its joints fell off their hinges. Fingers separated from the hands, scattering about on the floor. Oil dripped like blood from the broken atrocity.

Little brother cried out as if one of his flesh-and-blood hands had been shattered. "AAAAH! It took three weeks just to attune the frequency of-"

"I am not going to let you squander your soul on mechanical atrocities!"

The shock in his eyes gave way to anger. "Get out. Get out of my lab!"

"This place, these things you've studied have possessed you. I won't lose my only brother to-"

"Get OUT!" he shouted, directly in my face. His entire body was had become tense, almost as rigid as his blasphemous metal construct.

My self-restraint snapped.

I never should have let him set up this experimental pit. It had defiled him, changed him into someone I could hardly believe was my kin. The mistake had to be remedied. Now.

Walking straight past him, up to the biggest table covered with the most components, I consolidated my inner strength and brought the edge of my hand down upon the table's center. My blow split the wood into splinters. Spare parts thrown by the recoil clattered against the walls and floor. They did not all come to rest before I attacked the next stand.

I shattered glass, tore the pages out of textbooks, ripped out wires, and crushed plastic dishes under my heels. Whole notebooks filled with arcane symbols in my brother's handwriting became shredded, their pieces tossed amidst the confusion. He tried to intervene, but I pushed him aside. He tried reasoning with me, then pleading; I paid no attention to his hysteria. I continued the rampage until every breakable thing was destroyed, then smashed the electric lights on the floor, inadvertently starting a fire. It spread quickly, fueled by stray trails of oil, instantly consuming all the books, notes, and paper I'd thrown around. Little brother tried to rescue a sheet filled with grids of numbers. Sternly, I took hold of him and dragged him out of there. He resisted violently, wriggling like a fish on a hook. The fire curled brighter and hotter, suddenly bursting into a huge conflagration that licked every corner of the rundown old shed. Flames consumed everything.

"NOOOOO!!" my brother screamed. He curled his left hand into a fist and jabbed his elbow backward, catching me unprepared with a strike to the solar plexus. My grasp weakened enough for him to wrench loose. For an instant I worried that he might try to dash back inside, but he just stood there, staring at the burning shed. Firelight glinted off two trails leading down from the inner corner of each eye.

"It is for your own good," I told him, gently.

He turned around and ran, sprinting at top speed into the light woodlands nearby. I decided to let him go, for the time being. He'd been through a lot. Moreover, I had to watch over the fire, to ensure that it destroyed everything without spreading beyond the shed. It would be easier if I could freely use the Power to contain the blaze, in which case I didn't want any witnesses.

Once that was taken care of, I returned to my former home and settled things with the rest of the family. My brother was to drop out of the science courses at once, and he was not to enroll in any university. None of them objected to my decrees, for I was Lin Kuei. Little brother could not relocate away from the village without my consent.

The next day, I tried to talk to him again. He stared straight ahead the whole time. Attempting to explain why this was best for him got no response. "Would you at least look at me when I'm speaking to you?" I asked, growing somewhat exasperated.

His turned his head. Something was different about him. His hands were so tightly clenched that the color drained from his knuckles. There was a new stiffness to his muscles, and a remote, windy look to his sienna eyes. Those eyes glared at me with unmitigated hostility.

"I hate you," he whispered. It was the only thing he would say.

I'd originally planned to visit for the rest of the weekend, but somehow there didn't seem to be any point in staying.

* * *

Once I passed the dragon skeleton's tapering tail vertebrae, the passageway's width diminished. Light from the cavern's mouth faded. I advanced cautiously into the darkness, feeling my way along. At times the stone corridor was so narrow that I had to turn sideways. It curved, sometimes rising, sometimes descending, until it came to an end before a blank wall of stone. Examination by touch revealed an open passageway to each side. I chose the one on the right, ripping a shred of cloth off my leg cuffs and setting it down before I entered. The passageway veered, turning back on itself, and finally branched into three different routes. Picking the center one, I pressed ahead into a dead end. After retracing my steps and taking the left corridor, I encountered another nexus, this one with four different options.

I'd wandered into a damned labyrinth.

I was dearly in need of a light source. It had never before been my nature to carry flint, matches, or anything else that created Fire, yet now I was forced to reconsider the wisdom of my prejudice. The dragon skeleton's healing and the cavern's relative coolness had given me an opportunity to rebuild my inner storehouse of the Power, but my elemental aspect extinguishes heat or light instead of creating it.

Something smoother than rock or gravel crunched underfoot. Bone, by the feel of it. It seemed to have come from something human-sized or larger. Tooth marks peppered its surface. Every once in a while I came across another, cleanly picked set of remains. Tiny creatures also scuttled in the darkness - bats, mice, and insects, by their sound. They were the first natural life I'd encountered since arriving in Limbo.

A tenuous map, maintained through constant concentration, existed in my mind. There was no way of knowing how accurate it was. The slope underneath my feet fluctuated so much that I could be walking directly above or below my last steps. Sometimes I thought I felt a mild breeze from above, blowing down into my face even when I was pressed next to a wall. Attempting to walk into the source of the wind, I encountered one cul-de-sac or hub of passages after another. Moments waned into what felt like hours. Monotony began to set in. The map in my mind became unclear. I was losing track of direction, depth, and time.

My foot touched something soft and thin. Kneeling down to touch it, I felt flexible, somewhat ragged fabric underneath my fingertips. It was cloth from my own uniform. I'd traveled in a great circle.

* * *

There was something wrong with the rose I had sculpted out of Ice. Its leaves drooped, and the central blossom wouldn't spread properly no matter how many times I retouched it. The more effort I invested in molding the flower, the more listless it became. I'd been trying for hours, unsuccessfully, to recapture the life of my childhood creations. Perhaps distant memory pictured them more vibrant than they actually were. I was in the process of taking the sculpture apart, planning to start again from scratch, when I detected a localized increase in the room's arctic temperature about five paces behind, accompanied by a familiar whiff of charred ash.

"You should not apply the Power to such trivial pursuits," Smoke advised, disapprovingly. "There are other ways to make ice sculptures. The Power should not be channeled unless you have no other recourse. You still rely upon it too much."

"Why have you come? I did not summon you," I sighed without turning around. Deciding to try a different flower, I willed a fold of ice to become a violet leaf, heart-shaped with a finely toothed margin.

"Ignore my warning at your peril."

"Answer the question!"

"Unit LK-4D4 has disappeared. It was supposed to be destroyed, but someone had removed it before we could force our way into Pyre's laboratory. I think Sektor may have stolen it."

"He's still recovering from two broken arms. How could he steal anything?"

"He could have hidden it before your battle with Pyre."

"Pyre would not have let him do such a thing. You are attributing a great deal of cunning to a young hothead too witless to properly control his mouth."

"Perhaps."

"Don't be so quick to rule out whatever party 'discovered' that the metal atrocity was missing. There could be others in the clan who are sympathetic to Pyre's cause. He revealed his secret to me; who knows how many were aware of it all along?"

"A point."

"Is that all?"

"Not quite. There is also the matter of your brother."

"What makes you think I have one?" The violet's stem had a kink, as though it had been stepped on.

"You forget, Sub-Zero, that your grandfather was my instructor, once. He died before you were old enough to remember him, but we knew each other well. I'm the one remaining Lin Kuei who knows who he was under his mask. I know who you are, and who your brother is. It came to my attention that a Hierarchy member has personally forbidden a certain citizen to leave the village. A brief investigation confirmed my suspicions."

"The matter is none of your concern." Instead of creating each petal individually, I decided this time to shape the entire blossom at once, in hopes of making the whole appear more coordinated.

"Does it please you to abuse your authority like a tyrant?"

"No. Nothing has pleased me for many years, since the night we first met." Smoke became quiet for an extended period of time, while I concentrated on honing the violet's stamen to hairlike thinness. When he addressed me again, his gruff, husky voice had lost its caustic edge.

"You are crushing the dreams of a very intelligent young man."

"'Dreams'? Nightmares would be more apt! I will not let those foul artifacts of metal and wire possess him!"

"Technology is not inherently evil. It is a type of Power. Like any other Power, it can be used for woe or weal. Do not confuse Pyre's insanity with your brother's science."

"I see no difference."

"You are making a mistake."

_"That will be enough!"_ The violet shattered into pieces under my fingers. I turned and glared at Smoke. His eyes were darker than usual, like burnt wood instead of grey coals. "Leave, and do not approach me again unless I send for you!"

He left. It would be the last time I spoke with him for two years.

* * *

There was nothing to be done but plunge back into the maze. This time, I set down a tiny piece of cloth at every intersection. Directing the Power like a knife, I ripped my uniform's leg cuffs off and used them to make a trail. At each branching of tunnels, I always chose the one with the most upward slope; if there were more than one such, I alternated between right and left. After an interminable period of time, the black cloth of my leggings ended in scraps about my knees, and I still had no idea whether I was any closer to the way out.

Something sparkled.

Light! It only shined for an instant, just long enough to illuminate the tops of the tall stone walls that boxed me in. It had come from above, far and away down the corridor I currently traveled. I trotted as fast as I dared toward where it had been, soon reaching a juncture of six intersecting tunnels. Which one led toward the light flash?

Before I could make a choice, two pinpricks of bright red appeared from the leftmost corridor. They were a pair of ruby-colored eyes, gleaming in complete darkness. No ordinary animal's eyes could have shone like that. Animal tapeta reflect existing light, instead of creating their own. The translucent orbs hovered about a meter and a half off the ground. From their radiance, I could discern the small outline of a smooth-skinned, birdlike body supported on slender hind legs, with a long mouth. Sharp, meat-eater teeth were faintly visible along the mouth's front half. Its breath smelled of carrion.

"Rrowl!" the creature cried. "Rowl, rrowl!"

"Stay back, little one," I advised. "You are no match for me."

"Rrrowl!" A second pair of red pinpricks joined the first, synchronizing its call. Then a third stepped out of the adjoining tunnel, followed by fourth...

"Rowl! Rrowl!" The creatures streamed out of every branch ahead of me, drawn by the clamor of their kindred. A dozen of them pressed together. Combined light from their glowing eyes outlined the feathery crests running along the backs of their necks and their long, stiffly pointed tails. Their claws were shaped like sickles. Especially noticeable was the claw on the second toe of each foot - it was gigantic, held cocked in an upraised position. I've seen carving knives smaller than those claws.

I took a step back. The pack advanced. They eyed me in a tense, voracious manner. Individually, they were too small to be a danger, but the combined force of their numbers presented a threat. There were so many I couldn't attack them all with the Power, or even a majority of them. If I were to concentrate my energies on paralyzing some, the unaffected pack members would charge me en masse while I was distracted.

"Rowl! Rrowl!" Their call came from in back of me, now. Another wave of the little predators advanced through the tunnel where I'd just been. My avenue of retreat was cut off. I pressed my back to a flat wall while the hook-clawed beasts converged on every side.

* * *

Tired of what I'd been doing for the past decade, and uninterested in the day-to-day workings of the clan, I did not exercise the influence that I held as a Hierarchy member. The prospect of assassinating other hunters had lost its appeal. I went into semi-retirement, spending most of my time meditating and pursuing arts, especially the art of Ice sculpture. In due time, I became quite accomplished at reproducing still objects, such as Ming dynasty vases and jewelry boxes. But I couldn't accurately sculpt anything that lived. Plants were dull and wilted, animals sick and misshapen. Even when I worked directly from live models, something was wrong. My creations were nothing but crude lumps of frozen water. They lacked the appearance of life. Frustrated, I abandoned the aspiration to re-create my Ice dragon. I did not want to spoil her beautiful memory with some crass, twisted imitation.

In addition to crafting with the Power, I continued my usual daily regimen of practice in combat skills. Any Lin Kuei member had the right to challenge me for my Hierarchy title at any time, and I was not going to repeat Pyre's mistake of honing my Talent to the exclusion of all else. I half-expected Sektor to seek vengeance upon me, but never heard from him. A young upstart did challenge me once. He was fairly accomplished and showed potential. It was unfortunate that I had to kill him.  
Visits to my family were infrequent. The only member I wanted to see was my brother. Though he did eventually start speaking to me again, he would only discuss pleasantries. His demeanor was cool. We resembled casual acquaintances more than brothers. When I offered to lift his confinement to the village in return for his promise not to study technology, he merely shook his head and walked away.

My position in the Lin Kuei meant that I could have any woman I chose, yet the only ones who showed interest were looking for wealth, or power. I found such gold-digging repellent, and the thought of marrying an unwilling woman was many times more repulsive. Furthermore, if I were to have children, they might inherit my Power and consequently be forced into the Lin Kuei - a fate that I would not wish upon my worst enemy.

I had the autonomy to do anything I wanted, yet there was nothing I particularly wanted to do. I'd spend days alone in Pyre's former chamber, on my intricately sculpted throne of Ice, brooding about the paradox. There was no purpose. Nothing mattered.

So passed two years.

* * *

Rather than attack with the Power, I used it defensively. Bringing my left hand up into guard position, I let my right hand down and sent the Power coursing through it. I'd been practicing shaping things with the Power for so long that I could direct its flow while keeping my attention on the pack of carnivores.

The foremost creature tried to snap its jaws on my leg. It was twice as large as the others; its burning eyes were in line with my own. I pivoted, chambering and driving my heel into its neck. It flew back with a squeal that was at least an octave deeper than the others' high-pitched cries. The rest of the pack pressed forward, but by then the Ice ramp I'd created was as tall as they and I was on top of it. High ground gave me an advantage, and the ramp's narrow slope forced them to attack one at a time. In between bouts of fending them off, I invested effort into elevating the ramp and making it steeper. They struggled to climb it, skidding on its slick surface while I maintained my balance with ease. After a few minutes most of the pack stopped trying, though they continued to stalk the ramp's base.

The creature I'd kicked in the neck wasn't giving up that easily. It dug its hooked claws into the ramp's surface, using them to gain purchase. Its muscled hind legs crouched and propelled it toward me; in midair, it twisted to bring the carving knife claws on its feet in line with my stomach. Springing forward to meet it, I snapped one foot after another in a double-hit front kick that connected solidly with its chest. It landed further down the Ice ramp and skidded to the bottom. I flipped backwards, alighting near the ramp's summit. The large creature righted itself and hissed.

A light source suddenly appeared from behind and above. It shined like daylight - _real_ daylight, not the pounding red-orange haze of the bright circle in Limbo's sky. The glittering illumination revealed the greyish-brown color of the pack's dry skin, crisscrossed by asymmetrical black stripes on their necks, backs and tails. The pack blinked and shied away from the brightness, except for the one who had attacked me twice. He paced close to the ramp. When he turned, I noticed a long scar on his left hip, cutting across his stripes.

"You've been following the rays from my Sunstone, haven't you," mused a languid male voice with a rumbling cadence, from the same direction as the light. His breath smelled hot and foul. "Need any help, Sub-Zero?"

"No. How do you know my name?"

"News of the Tournament you participated in travels fast, even here. By the way, I couldn't help noticing your moves against that raptor. Not bad, but rather weak compared to what I've heard about you. Are you holding back?"

"I kill people, not animals."

"How noble." Sarcasm dripped from each word. "Unfortunately for you, the raptors have more flexible ethics. Food is scarce in the Maze, so whenever they find something too big to bring down, they pin it against a corner somewhere until it collapses from exhaustion and thirst. They'll take turns watching you, rotating in shifts for as long as they have to. They're quite intelligent, that way. But they taste simply awful. Too tough and stringy, definitely not worth the effort. See the scar on that alpha male? I put it there, and nearly lost a leg of my own in the process. That was the last time I tried to make a meal out of a healthy adult raptor.

"So, do you still want to stay down there with your toothy friends?"

"They are not my friends."

"Even if you do drive them off, which way would you go? The Maze has thousands of paths; you could search for days and never find Leucrotta Castle. You'd starve to death looking, unless you want to live on rats and cockroaches. Disgusting things. You can barely make a decent snack out of them, let alone a meal."

"Do you know the way out?"

"Of course."

"Tell me."

"First, would you do me the kindness of a face-to-face conversation? It really isn't very polite, keeping your back turned to someone when they're talking to you."

Though I was reluctant to take my eyes off the pack below, this Maze was a greater threat than they were. My hearing and sensitivity to air currents would warn me if the scarred creature attacked again, but nothing I'd tried had helped me navigate this seemingly endless network of corridors. I risked a glance over my shoulder, at the speaker.

A sphinx reclined on top of the stone wall that ran a meter above my head. He resembled a massive lion with the twisted mimicry of a human face. His thick fur was tawny yellow, contrasted against a dusky brown mane and matching tuft on his tail. Retractile claw-tips poked out from his toes. Tan, feathered wings longer than his lion-body folded against his sides. Each wing was attached to his back just below the shoulder joint. His face had distorted proportions; the nose poked far out, like a hawk beak, and the abnormally wide mouth was crammed with double rows of pointed canines. Underneath his neck sparkled a brilliant yellow jewel on an iron chain. I felt the presence of Power within its faceted depths. Someone had used a great deal of mystic energy to turn this gemstone into a solar storehouse.

My admiration of the gem was cut short when I made the mistake of looking into the sphinx's eyes. They flashed deep green, the color of moss rippling beneath a running stream. There were no corneas, only vertical slit pupils nestled in a sea of shimmering emerald. My limbs stiffened. Command of my muscles seeped away. Like a badly manipulated puppet, the controlling force made me turn fully around. Inside, I struggled furiously against the sphinx's hypnotic Power.

"Yes, that's better," he drooled. "Now, come on up here, where I can sink my teeth into you. All your fresh meat shouldn't go to waste on the raptors." My legs tensed as if to vault; I fought against the compelling urge. "What's taking so long? You're quite capable of making the leap."

"Nnngh-no." The strain of defying the sphinx's call sent involuntary shudders through my frame. Though I could speak, I could not look away from his mesmerizing gaze. It took everything I had to simply remain where I was.

"Don't be modest, I saw you jump an instant ago. You wouldn't be resisting my will, would you? You're not the first to try. Other humanoids have squirmed, cursed, spat in my face, or pleaded right up to the end. Guess what? They were all the more delicious for it." He stared harder. Sweat formed on my brow. Uncontrollable shaking wracked my limbs.

The sphinx frowned. "You are more stubborn than you look. At this rate, I may have to come down to where you are." The scarred raptor made an angry, squawking sound. "Except that I don't like the way your friend is looking at my leg."

"C-... coward!"

"Who, me? Just because I immobilize my prey before killing it? Isn't that what you do?" I could not deny that. "It's a very practical system. Spiders have been using it for millions of years. One more try. Come!"

I took a step forward, then stopped.

His mouth split wide in an irritated grimace. "Tell you what. I'll give you a sporting chance. If you can answer a riddle, I'll free you. I'll even show you the way to Leucrotta Castle. If you can't answer the riddle, your meat is mine." He licked his chops, smacking his lips noisily. "Here it is:

Most precious of treasures  
Sealed in a long white box  
Without lock or key  
No lid to open  
No clasp to close  
What am I?"

* * *

**end section three of part two**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	8. Part 2 Section 4

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 2 of 4 Section 4 ** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive**  
**Part 2 Section 4**

* * *

"Ultratech?" I repeated. The sound of the name filled me with disgust.

"Silence!" Toxin commanded, sharply. The spitting cobra draped around her shoulders flicked its forked tongue in and out, tasting the air. Hurricane folded his arms. The Unknown did not move. It was the first time I had ever laid eyes on these three, the Lin Kuei Hierarchy's absolute rulers, of whom I'd heard so much and knew so little.

Hurricane was a master of Air and Water, one of the few clansmen in Lin Kuei history gifted with Power over more than one element. His Talent was so potent that he could influence weather itself, though affecting an area greater than half a square kilometer strained his limits. Hurricane's uniform had blue highlights a shade lighter than mine; the rest of it was spotless white, as warning of his dual talent. His mood was reputed to be as changeable as the wind and sea, spontaneously transforming from calm to destructive rage.

Toxin was the most lethal of the three. Female Lin Kuei are rare, as the clan does not accept women into its ranks unless they are gifted with the Power, and does not routinely Test women. She'd joined the clan by seeking a pair of members out and demanding to take the Test. When one of them laughed at her, she raked her nails across the bridge of his nose. He died in a heartbeat. The survivor approved of her demonstration and sponsored her petition. Toxin's Power was that of Poison. She was immune to all types of venom, and distinguished cyanide from arsenic like common mortals separated varieties of wine. A touch of her fingers on bare skin brought illness; on an open cut, death. Her green and black uniform was composed entirely of the finest silk.

Toxin was also one of the few Hierarchy members who regularly performed assassinations, instead of merely ordering them. Her record was spotless. She could murder with a scratch, a dart, a tasteless substance sprinkled in victuals, or the snakes she cherished like children. Rumor had it that she could slay with her gaze as well, but I doubted that; otherwise, she would have disposed of Pyre herself. Her kill-count was impressively high, for her age. She was a scant twenty-three years old, the youngest Hierarchy member ever.

The Unknown was a mystery. His Power was a secret, if he had one. His uniform and the hooded robes he wore over it were entirely black, like the cloth of a common clan member, and completely covered his entire body. A bulge under his one-way kuroko mask was all I could see of his face. He never spoke, communicating only through the secret sign language of the Lin Kuei, and only to Hurricane and Toxin. I call him "he," but I do not even know that.

There has been an Unknown for as long as there have been Lin Kuei; indeed, the Unknown's authority absolutely supersedes that of all other clan members. Hurricane and Toxin's rank merely reflected that they were primary counsel to the Unknown, though for practical purposes they held strong sway in their own right. Though the Unknown can be challenged for his title, the challenge and the battle must be held in secret; should the challenger win, he must forsake identity and voice to become the next Unknown. There was no way to be certain whether the Unknown before me was the same individual who had sat on the central throne a year ago, a week ago, or yesterday. True, a clansman would unexpectedly disappear from time to time, but that hardly implied he had become the Unknown. Few Lin Kuei perish from old age.

Hurricane, Toxin, and the Unknown: together, these three formed the ruling Triumvirate of the Lin Kuei Hierarchy. Their dominion was vast. Their cunning was immeasurable. They had wanted to see me, so I had not kept them waiting. I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't to be-

"-the appointed ambassador of our clan. You will represent our interests to Ultratech, and return with the details of their offer." Toxin lifted one arm, allowing her spitting cobra to slither into a more comfortable position. "Transportation has been arranged. You leave at dawn tomorrow. Now, is there something you wish to say?"

"Why have I been chosen?"

"Careful," warned Hurricane. "You have _not_ been granted permission to question our decision."

"Understood, Lords." I had a sinking feeling that this was not going to turn out well. "Lords, I have a boon to ask of you, if I may."

Hurricane scowled. Toxin's delicate eyebrows rose a trifle. "Speak, then," she said, her olive eyes set in a firm, unreadable expression.

"I ask for leave to bring Smoke with me."

"Smoke?" Hurricane snorted. "He's your lackey; why should we care what you do with him?"

"I was under the impression he belonged to... someone else."

"Smoke was your grandfather's bond servant," Toxin explained. "Weren't you aware of that? Inheritance naturally falls to you."

_Then why is he your informant?_ I wondered, but some questions are better left unasked. When I departed, I resisted the urge to turn around for one last look at the Unknown. He had stayed motionless on his cushioned throne for the entire audience. I hadn't so much as seen him breathe.

* * *

The scarred raptor pounced. I sensed his coming, but was helpless to act until he slammed into my back. His razor claws pinned me flat on the Ice ramp, forcing me to break eye contact with the unblinking sphinx. Control of my body returned. Reaching behind my back with one hand, I grasped the scarred raptor's ankle and froze him with the Power an instant before he could rip my side open with his carving knife claws.

"No! That's MY dinner!" roared the man-lion, leaping down from his perch. His body made a heavy thud when he landed next to the ramp. Other raptors in the background hissed, sounding more fearful than angry.

"Out of my way, you little bastard!" the sphinx snapped, knocking the paralyzed raptor off me with a swipe of his paw. While he talked, I scrambled to hands and knees. "As for you, mortal meat-" I kicked straight back, into the source of his voice. My heel crunched into soft flesh and bone underneath.

"AAARRRRR! My node! You broke my node!" I closed my eyes and spun around. The sphinx's Power had no effect on me if I did not look at him, so I was free to interrupt his yells with a glancing punch to his cheek. My Lin Kuei training in blindfighting, the art of combat in complete darkness, served me well.

The origin of his growl moved higher, above my head; he was rearing. Air swished as his great paw slashed toward my throat. I cartwheeled up the ramp's slope, dodging out of range, and dashed three steps forward. Memory told me exactly where the ramp ended and the stone wall began. Without slowing, I stepped on the wall's cool surface and sprang off it, tucking in my arms and knees, spinning in midair to maximize trajectory. I landed on the sphinx's back, a little off-kilter, but steady enough to seize hold of the iron chain around his neck.

"What in Haded-" the sphinx's curse stopped abruptly when I pulled the chain tight against his throat.  
"Take me to Leucrotta Castle at once," I commanded.

"Why thould I- urk!"

I let him choke for a moment before relaxing the tension. "If you do not, you shall die slowly, in extreme agony. I will asphyxiate you until you are helpless. Then I will put out your eyes, cripple your limbs, and turn you over to the pack. You will awaken in time to feel them rip open your abdomen and feed on your entrails."

"Hey, you daid you killed people, not animald."

"You can talk. You're no animal."

"But I'm not a perdon!"

"Close enough." I decided it was safe to open my eyes. Should he try to ensnare me with his gaze again, I could immobilize him with the Power before he could twist his head halfway around.

"If I do ad you day, what happend to me?"

"Obey me swiftly, without resistance, and I will show you mercy."

"All right, all right. Judt take it eady on the windpipe, okay?" I wrapped my arms around his neck and gripped his mane. The lion-man crouched and bounded above the heads of the stupefied pack, landing on top of the wall behind them. He jumped from wall top to wall top. His jewel shined more brightly than before, revealing a vast network of crisscrossing walls that he navigated with ease. After several minutes of travel, he slowed.

"Have to - redt - for a moment," he gasped.

"Can't you fly?"

"In thid dead air, with your lead weight on my neck? You have got to be kidding." Scuffling noises spiced with birdlike chirps came from below. The scarred raptor and his pack were trailing us. They must have known their home well; the Maze's twists hadn't delayed them at all.

"This break is over. Get moving," I demanded.

"Dlave driver," he muttered, resuming his leonine bounds. The raptors pursued. After ten more such bursts of activity, I could see the faint glitter of soft white light ahead, streaming from a half-circle opening like the one through which I'd entered. Beyond, I glimpsed a distant turret.

"Okay, I've done what you want."

"No. You must take me up to the castle."

"I can't! It'd heavily guarded. To approach it id to die."

"Very well, then take me outside of the Maze, and I'll continue alone."

"If you're doe eager to throw away your life, I could eadily- ack!"

"That will be enough backtalk," I glowered, accenting my words with another pull of the chain. "Go."

He reached the half-circle opening in one last burst of speed, outdistancing the raptors. Leucrotta Castle rested atop a hill, several kilometers directly ahead.

"End of the line," panted the sphinx.

"So I see. One more thing: 'bone marrow.'"

"Wad it that obvioud?"

"Yes." He had been constantly talking about food. What else would he consider "most precious of treasures?"

"Nexdt time I'll remember to eat firdt, adk riddled later. Are you going to keep your promide?"

"Yes, killer. I will show you the same mercy you bestowed on all the others." I drove a blade of pure Power into his throat, cutting through tissue and bone to cleanly decapitate him.

The sphinx's body sagged. Dismounting, I slipped his necklace with the brilliant gemstone off the stump of his neck. The gem might come in handy later, I thought, hiding it within my tunic. Its daylight glow dimmed in response to my desire to conceal it.

"Rrrrrrraaawl!"

The scarred raptor had arrived, followed by the rest of his pack. Cautiously, I stepped away from the sphinx. The scarred raptor's glowing red eyes flicked from me to the sphinx's fresh carcass and back again.

"Well?" I said.

"Rrawl!" He approached the sphinx. His foot whipped across the dead body's chest; an ebbing liquid trail of red marked where the carving knife claw on his second toe had been. He crouched, working his hands into the rent and tugging at something, until he had wrenched free a quivering blob of muscle. The scarred raptor gulped down the sphinx's heart, gurgling.

"Rowl, rrowl!" Upon hearing the pack leader's cry, the other raptors converged on the body without sparing me any further notice. They tore at the sphinx, their rigid tails sticking straight up like points of a crown. I backed away steadily. Once they were out of sight, I ran until I had left them far behind. Only then did I stop to stretch out. The long, bareback ride had left me quite sore.

* * *

"What the HELL is that?!" I exclaimed, gawking at the giant monster.

"Our transportation," Smoke answered, casually.

It was enormous. Its wingspan would dwarf a roc's. The sail of a warship could have made up its tail. It resembled no earthly beast. The thing's gleaming body was a slate-grey cylinder, with no neck and only a rounded off end for a head. One long eye was plastered across the top of its face; many smaller eyes ran in a line across its unbending body. Its tail was a thin triangle with rectangular flaps perched on its far end. The wings stuck out at acute angles to its either side. They carried neither feathers nor webbed bat skin; instead, they were simply a flat expanse of reflective grey.

"It's... metal," I realized. Closer examination revealed rubber-coated wheels on three sets of wire legs, propping the thing up.

"Haven't you seen an airplane before?"

"A what?"

"I suppose not. It's a flying machine, capable of traveling faster than-"

"Fly? That thing must weigh tonnes! It doesn't have any joints with which to flap its wings!"

"I'll give you a lecture on the principle of jet propulsion after we get on."

"It doesn't have any handholds. How is a person to stay on its back?" Smoke started to answer, but before he could say a word he started coughing violently.

Two years' passage had changed him. Instead of wearing the ceremonial clan uniform like I was, he'd come to the appointed site dressed in a black formal business suit with a grey shirt and tie. That in itself made him look astoundingly different, yet the slight smoke-plumes constantly escaping from his collar, sleeves, and leg cuffs assured me of his identity. He had left his mask behind. I'd never seen him without it before. His face was unusually pale and gaunt. One long streak of grey ran through his cropped dark hair, accompanied by a host of smaller grey strands. He seemed older than his age of forty-eight years.

He also sounded a lot worse than before. His voice was fainter, and its gravelly rasp had increased, at times making his words difficult to understand. A pair of dark sunglasses with mirrored outer lenses hid his eyes. He appeared thinner and weaker than I remembered. And there was that cough. It had been infrequently plaguing him all morning.  
"Are you well?" I asked.

"As well as can be expected," he sighed, clearing his throat. He made a brief chopping motion with one hand, as was his habit when he wanted to dismiss a topic.

"Perhaps you should not make this journey."

"I am going with you. I'm curious about Ultratech. The Lin Kuei has tried to infiltrate their ranks before, but none of the agents involved ever returned. Then out of the blue, Ultratech directly invites us to send a representative. They want to talk about something too sensitive to discuss outside their walls. Hopefully, whatever it is does not involve our mysterious disappearance." Smoke removed his sunglasses and rubbed them on his cuff, clearing off the thin film of soot that had accumulated on their lenses. Pronounced trails of red marred the whites of his eyes. "Ah, good. They're positioning the stairs."

I followed his line of sight. Workers were pushing a long flight of steps over to the metal beast. The carpeted stairs were mounted on wheels, and looked as if some cosmic force had cleanly ripped them out of a tall building. A gaping wound appeared in the flying beast's side. Its metal skin was pushed out, leaving a human-sized hole. The beast's interior was... hollow?

"Are we expected to climb into that thing's stomach?"

"You catch on fast."

"But that's insane!"

"It doesn't have a digestive system. Trust me."

"I will have nothing to do with that monster!"

"Ultratech's corporate base is halfway around the world. We're supposed to be there the day after tomorrow. This is the only way to arrive in time. Anything else would be far too slow."

"Ultratech can wait! I do not intend to crawl inside that metal _thing_ like a maggot burrowing into a dead-"

"Are you going to tell the Triumvirate that?" I halted in mid-denial. "Look, Sub-Zero, the worst thing that could possibly happen is that it will kill us, in which case we won't have to worry about what Ultratech will do to us when we get there."

Smoke affirmed his logic with a smile. His teeth were sickly yellow, with ugly brown stains. The sight was, in its own way, more ghastly than the prospect of being swallowed by the metal leviathan.

My higher rank necessitated that I precede him up the flight of cut-away stairs, although my instincts were shouting to either retreat or do battle. The metal beast's cramped interior was filled with carpeting, lights, and rows of cushioned chairs fixed in place. It looked deceptively welcoming, but I remained on edge. Our designated chairs were cushioned and low to the ground, not at all like the Ice throne I was accustomed to sitting upon. When a loud, unnatural whine suddenly tore through the air, I tightened my hold on the soft chair's arms.

"Sub-Zero, if I may..."

"What is it," I muttered through clenched teeth.

"If the temperature inside this space were somehow to drop too low, it might have a deleterious effect on the airplane's ability to fly."

"What do you think you are implying?"

"It was just a thought." Another episode of coughing briefly took hold of him.

A young woman dressed in a blouse and knee-length navy skirt approached us. "Your pardon sirs, but we are about to lift off." She gestured to a small black rectangle mounted near the ceiling. It was decorated with glowing tubes in the shape of a white stick, superimposed by a red circle with a diagonal slash. "As you can see, the sign says 'No...'" She trailed off and stared, open-mouthed, at the charcoal plumes drifting from Smoke's collar.

Smoke leaned forward and flashed his grisly smile. "Go ahead, miss. Please do finish your sentence."

* * *

The terrain surrounding Leucrotta Castle was only somewhat more open than the Maze. Cold stone stretched in a variety of stalagmites, spires, arcs, hollows, mounds, and depressions. I passed natural carvings endowed with delicate elegance. Enough twilight filtered down from above to reveal the rock formations' dazzling colors, which ranged the spectrum sunset red to flower petal lilac.

I had no idea Limbo could be so beautiful.

A narrow strip of ground covered with flat, blue-purple stones crossed my path. It was clearly artificial; while it may have been meant to complement the wild splendor of its surroundings, it was little more than a pedantic ornament. It curled right and left, making a wide detour around the turrets of Leucrotta Castle. Past the strip, the terrain abruptly dropped away in a jagged downward rift.

Scanning the area, I spotted a taller than average rock formation of reasonable slope, with plenty of grooves to function as handholds, and promptly scaled it. I could see the entire region from the rock's summit. It was an enclosed cavern, roughly in the shape of an indented hemisphere. Surrounding its circumference were dozens of dark openings like the one the sphinx had brought me to; in fact, I could see the man-lion's distant body surrounded by lounging raptor pack. Two raptors played tug of war with a haunch ripped from their fresh meat. From this distance, they might have been baby sparrows tussling over a worm. Aside from the raptors, the only signs of life were the bats fluttering to and fro above my head.

I suspected that the openings scattered along the perimeter all led back into the Maze; if so, then this cavern was most likely the Maze's heart. The floor of the entire grotto was tilted in the shape of a wide cone: low near the circumference, gradually rising as one progressed inward. Below, the artificial strip of flat stones was part of an interior circle, marking the boundary of an inner gulf. The gulf's depths were cloaked in shadow. I was close enough to the edge to pitch a piece of gravel into the abyss. Though I listened intently for over a minute, I did not hear it hit the bottom.

Leucrotta Castle was supremely elevated on an isolated upthrust in the center of the chasm. If the ground were a cone, the castle was its point. Further down the paved blue-purple path was an archway; shimmering spots of red flickered on the ground all around it. Through the arch, a trail atop a moderately thin mound threaded across the gulf, resembling the top of a dam more than a bridge. Leucrotta Castle's silver-trimmed front door sparkled at the trail's far end.

Looking upward, I saw the cavern's domed, stalactite-peppered ceiling curve approximately two kilometers over my head. Cracks and pockmarks in the ceiling allowed willowy beams of light to stream through; these diffusing rays spread to give the cavern its twilight appearance. There was a wider hole in the ceiling's center. Something slender, sparkling, and tinged with Power ran through that hole, winding down in a tight spiral until it touched the tip of Leucrotta Castle's highest tower. It was a golden staircase, the only egress from this self-contained world.

* * *

**end section four of part two**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	9. Part 3 Section 1

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 3 of 4: Section 1** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 3 Section 1 **

**

* * *

**Ultratech's headquarters was in the midst of a decadent metropolis. The air carried a foul taste and nauseating smell. Smoke's coughing fits became more pronounced. His Power should have shielded him, just as mine protects me from frostbite, but perhaps there were trace amounts of artificial poisons in the smog.

The city's buildings were badly in need of repair. Its streets were filthy. The alleys were worse, littered with rotting garbage, metal needles embedded in plastic cylinders, and fecal matter. Insects crawled freely amidst festering pieces of discarded food. Changes in the slight cross-breeze brought the stench of urine. Loud metal boxes on wheels clogged the paved roads, belching black soot as they rolled past. People huddled together, crowding the sidewalks like a herd of cattle. Their body heat combined with the high summer temperature bore down on me.

This place was a sewer.

"It's not too late to call Ultratech and ask them to send back their limousine," Smoke remarked. "Then we wouldn't have to walk through this mess."

I was sure I hadn't spoken that last thought aloud. "If you are referring to that squat black mechanical beast-"

"With luxury seats and air conditioning."

"-then no, I shall not have anything to do with it. I've endured being swallowed by a vile artifact once. No more!"  
"It was only a thought."

After three hours of travel on foot, we reached Ultratech's address at the intersection of Dickerson and Main streets. Curiously, both the traffic and the pedestrians shied from the entire block, making the area appear deserted except for the background noise. Sirens, yelling, and nasal commands voiced several decibels louder than what a human being should be capable of blared in the distance, peppered with echos of rattling gunfire.

Ultratech's residence was an extremely long rectangle stood on end, lined with neat, horizontal rows of square-shaped windows. The tower stood apart from its grungy surroundings in that it was sparkling clean, every centimeter polished, every window perfectly clear. Instead of reeking garbage, the place smelled of unnatural chemicals. Looking up the rectangle's incredible length strained my neck, and I nearly walked into a metal beast placed haphazardly next to the road's raised yellow border. Two of the thing's wheels were missing, replaced by brick piles. Wire tips poked out of the smashed wreck of its eyes. Nailed to its mouth was a metal plate with the raised English letters "COMBO." I stepped gingerly around the wounded beast.

"Smoke," I said, "bide a moment. Are you sure you wish to enter dressed as you are?"

"Do you know, I was recently thinking the same about you? While the ceremonial Lin Kuei uniform is appropriate for intimidating peasants, you do rather stand out in an urban district."

"What I meant was, why aren't you wearing your mask?"

"It makes no difference any longer. I haven't worn it in months." A strong sense of finality accompanied his tone, like the _thump_ of closing a musty book.

"If Ultratech knows what you look like, it may use that information to persecute you and your family."

"The Lin Kuei are my family."

"Of course, they are the family of every clan member. I was referring to your biological relatives."

He folded his arms, fixing his eyes on Ultratech's spotless tower. "My... 'biological relatives' were casualties in a protection war between the Lin Kuei and the Black Dragons. The Lin Kuei would have executed me as well if not for your grandfather. It was his decree that I should be Tested first. He thought he sensed something in me. Killing innocent bystanders was nothing new to him, but to accidentally destroy a potential wielder of the Power would be, in his words, 'a waste.' I passed the Test, earning the right to survive as one of the clan.

"So you see, when I say that the Lin Kuei are my family, I am being quite literal." He coughed several times and cleared his throat. "Shall we go inside?"

He had changed in more than just appearance. The Smoke I remembered never talked about himself. The person standing next to me had become notably more loquacious and amiable. Lin Kuei do not consider either trait a virtue.

Perhaps his disease was unhinging his mind.

It didn't matter; now was not the time to think about such things. I approached the entrance to Ultratech's great tower. Their front gate was no common portal. A balanced array of four doors positioned at cross angles to each other rested in the center of a transparent glass wall. Strange. The rectangular doors were made of thick glass, framed with metal borders; heavy rubber lined their top and bottom edges. A long black handle ran horizontally across their breadth, positioned slightly above waist level. Through the glass, I could see the carpeted interior of Ultratech's front hall. Two security guards stood at attention near the clover-leaf doors. In back, a muscular black man with a pair of boxing gloves dangling from his belt was speaking to a willowy, bored-looking receptionist. The boxer was clearly agitated about something, for he banged the desk's surface with his hand.

I pressed on the handle. The door gave a surprising amount of resistance, due no doubt to its heavy weight and that absurd rubber padding dragging against its bottom. Leaning forward, I pushed with both hands. Once I got it moving, it rapidly picked up speed, curving away and to the left.

"Sub-Zero, wait one moment," Smoke suddenly called. "Perhaps I ought to demonstrate-" something abruptly silenced him. I turned around to see what it was, letting the door swing outward. Another of the four clover-leaf doors was barreling toward me. Attempting to evade it, I found myself confined within a wedge-shaped cubicle. The heavy object picked up speed. When I shoved against its momentum, the door I'd opened also slowed, well short of opening into the room beyond. Glass and metal boxed me in on all sides.

It was a trap!

My pulse pounded. Reflexively, I kicked out at the third wall of my artificial prison, a curving pane of glass between the doors. Vibrations of shock traveled up my leg. My heel hurt from the impact. The wall was not an ordinary glass pane; it was many times thicker and stronger, while retaining deceptive clarity. But I was no ordinary prisoner. I sent the Power into the material, chilling it to such an extreme that my next kick shattered it. Splinters of frozen glass dug against the thick cloth of my uniform without cutting through it. The security guard directly in front of me was not so fortunate. Shards sank into his face and arms. He staggered back, groping for his weapon but unable to draw it because of the transparent wedges lodged in his hands.

"Freeze!" yelled the second guard, leveling his firearm at point-blank range. I obliged, casting a stream of the Power into him. He was so close that he didn't have time to pull the trigger before the Ice took hold. I hit him with an open hand chop to the side of the neck. He collapsed, the pistol slipping out of his fingers. Wasting no time, I turned and drove a third wave of the Power into the glass wall. Weakened, it easily fragmented in response to a backwards thrust kick, clearing a path for my escape.

"Where do you think you're going, terrorist?" snarled a breathy female voice. It was the receptionist. She vaulted over her desk like a gymnast and sprinted toward me, carrying two short sticks tipped with yellow, one in each hand. When I hurled a stream of the Power at her, she evaded it with a forward flip. I turned an instant before the spike of her high-heel boots could plow into my ribs; instead, it pierced my shoulder. The force spun me halfway around. I flowed with it rather than fight it, turning the flight back into a series of handsprings.

"You're not getting away that easily!" The receptionist covered the ground between us in a handful of long-legged strides. She was slightly faster than me. In order to elude Ultratech's trap, I'd have to take her out. Smoke yelled something, but I couldn't afford to distract myself listening to him.

I waited until she was nearly upon me before dropping low and driving my fist into her midsection. She tried to jump above the attack like before, but was so close and running so hard that she never had time to leave the ground. My attack was doubly strong because she had thrown herself into it. The receptionist folded in half, pressing both forearms tightly against where I'd hit her. I swung the back of my fist at her temple. She fell to her hands and knees with a shuddering groan.

I'd have to end this quickly. Stepping forward, I curled my second and third fingers of my right hand into a cat's claw and jabbed at her throat. She moved to deflect it with one of her sticks, but was too disoriented to maneuver it properly - or so I thought until a brilliant beam of golden light shot from its lemon-tipped end. The light beam burned my fingers like a torch. If not for the guards I wore, my hand would have been split in half. My breath hissed through my teeth.

"Did that hurt, lover?" she sneered. "C'mon, you can tell me. Don't be shy!" As I jerked the injured member away, she reached forward and made a grab for my face. Her fingertips merely grazed the surface of my mask. She swung her light-blade on line with my neck. I bent over backwards in a kickflip, evading her strike and whipping the insteps of both feet at her wrist. She spat a curse as the weapon flew from her hand and activated her second light-sword. The girl advanced, this time keeping the side of her body turned. She'd learned better than to charge me with a full-forward run.

The girl made a wide swing at the edge of her light-sword's range. I dropped underneath its arc, and transformed a backward somersault toward her into an upward kick, pushing off from the ground. My heels struck the wrist holding her second light-sword. This time she did not have the opportunity to curse before I snapped to my feet and drove my stiffened knuckles of my left hand toward her neck.

"Stop it, both of you!" Smoke exclaimed, deflecting my strike with a chop of his forearm and interposing himself between us. "This is a misunderstanding!"

The receptionist glared around him, at me. "I see your friend is covering for you, terrorist. Are you afraid to finish what you started?"

"Girl," I growled, invoking a frigid blue nimbus of Power around my good hand, "you talk too much."

"I said STOP!" Smoke shouted, extending his flexed palms to physically push the girl and me apart. To her, "We are the Lin Kuei delegation. Ultratech invited us. We have a four o'clock appointment. Our card." From his vest, he withdrew a scrip of rectangular paper with the written words "Lin Kuei" and the clan's abstract sigil.

She glanced at the card briefly, but did not move to take it. "Your friend is a psychopath. He destroyed the front door and attacked two of our guards."

"That 'front door' is a trap!" I spat. "I expected Ultratech to try an ambush, and I am not going to submit!"  
She looked curiously at me, then back to Smoke. "He is also completely delusional. Is he a hallucinogen addict?" My eyes narrowed.

"Can we at least agree on a truce?" Smoke pressed, glancing from me to her.

"If you'll keep your pet psycho on a leash," she sniffed.

"From this moment on, I am sending you into the traps first," I warned him.

"Sub-Zero, that door isn't-"

The boxer I'd seen earlier suddenly shoved Smoke aside. "Hey, outta my way you clowns!" He turned to the receptionist and demanded, "What're you gonna do about dis permit? I'm signin' up for da Killer bash 'cause I _need_ da money, not t' pay some damn hundred dollar registration fee, you bitch!"

"'Clowns'?" I repeated, softly.

"'Bitch'?" she repeated, even more softly.

"You heard me. So, what're you gonna do about it?"

She smashed the hilt of her remaining sword into his jaw at the same time as I threw the Power into him. While he was paralyzed, I hit him with an overhead slam to the crown of his skull. She kneed him in the groin. He collapsed.

"At least you agree on something," Smoke commented.

"I don' need dis shit. I really don'," boxer grunted, first crawling, then limping painfully to the trapped set of doors. They should have swallowed him up, but he merely pushed on one and kept pushing until it rotated halfway around, letting him out.

He made it look so easy.

Smoke asked, "Truce?"

"Truce," I muttered, staring at the outlandish doors as they slowed to a stop.

"Truce," the girl agreed. "Hey guys, you can lower your weapons. The situation is well in hand." I turned my head. She had addressed half a dozen additional armed security guards, all pointing their firearms at me. They must have come in response to the commotion. The guards holstered their guns. Two of them approached their injured comrades, while the remaining four kept uneasy watch on us. "You're still breathing only because they didn't want to risk hitting me or your civilian friend, Zero," the girl smirked.

"That's 'Sub-Zero.'"

"Zero."

"I am called Smoke," said the teacher, bowing. "And you, fair maiden, are...?"

"Orchid. Flattery will get you everywhere." She smiled broadly, revealing a perfectly even set of gleaming white teeth. Her expression changed to one of puzzlement as she noticed the smoke trails rising from his collar. "Are you on fire?"

"Only in the metaphorical sense. Your beauty is quite incendiary." Her smile returned. I turned away in disgust.

"That smoke isn't toxic, is it?"

"Short-term exposure shouldn't be a problem. Um, there aren't any children or pregnant women in the area, are there?"

"Oh, no, but if you stay here you might set off the-" A loud, continuous wail assaulted my ears. I shifted into guard stance, but in place of an attack a steady indoor rain streamed down from the ceiling.

"-fire alarm," Orchid finished, shielding her eyes from the downpour. "Damn. Of all the days to forget my mascara."

"Can we continue this someplace else?" I sighed.

A distant exclamation from the boxer carried through the jagged holes in Ultratech's glass wall. "Aw, no! My CAR!"

* * *

I smelled Blood River's source before I could see it.

Human bones floated in sanguine red pools dotting the side of the paved stone path. The blood steamed and gave off heat, though not as much as the river itself had. The bubbling pools became more frequent the closer I approached the trail to Leucrotta Castle's front door. Fresh surges of liquid red pouring out large circular openings of mortared stone constantly fed their depths, yet the pools never overflowed. Golems carved from the surrounding rock watched over the sometimes trickling, sometimes gushing streams. I envisioned the liquid seeping down through vents in the rock, to the bed of Blood River itself.

A great deal of clutter lay strewn about the intersection between stone pathway and castle trail. Among the piles of junk were rust-covered weapons, moldering finery, and an open coffin with an elegant black chandelier resting on top. The arch I had glimpsed earlier was surprisingly humble; merely a set of smooth grey stones, cemented into an arc about twice as tall as I was. Bats fluttered and roosted on rock formations nearby; some even flapped their way across the gulf to the castle, though they avoided flying too close to the arch.

Except for the flying mammals, my surroundings were deserted. Neither sentries nor stone golems watched over the archway. Beyond, Leucrotta Castle itself had no gatekeeper, no soldiers manning the turrets, nothing save more bats. Hadn't the sphinx said the castle was "heavily guarded?"

Following my suspicions, I gently lobbed a pebble into the arch. The instant it flew under the curving structure, a brilliant red flare engulfed it. I dove to the ground and covered my head as an explosion shattered it into countless pieces. Discharge of a Power at least equal to Pyre's accompanied the burst.

Stepping to the side, I tossed a second pebble around the arch, toward the pathway beyond. Another red flare surrounded it as soon as it reached the space above the castle's front road. As I took shelter, I glimpsed the crackling red sheet of force enclosing the path, like a tube.

Though I could not be sure how much time had passed since I arrived within Limbo, I felt like I'd been awake for days. Warnings against sleeping in Limbo remained fresh in my mind. I had to find a way into Leucrotta Castle, and soon. The wards guarding the castle's front were too powerful to deactivate quickly, and the gulf's sides were too steep to scale.

Wait. How could liquid be constantly flowing out of the sewer openings? This was a high elevation. Where was the fresh blood coming from?

I navigated around the edge of a blood pool and pressed closer to the largest drain opening. Inside, I saw a tunnel that angled sharply to the right. With a short run, I gathered enough speed to clear the pool and leap into the opening's mouth. Its pouring red contents reached up to my knees. Wading around the bend, I saw a rusted iron gate. The arm of a floating body poked through it. A few more rotting corpses jammed against the grate's lower teeth, forming a limited dam. Like the remains piled upon the dragongods' battlefield, none of the bodies gave off the smell of corruption. There was only the warm tang of fresh blood.

I studied the rusting iron grate. The crisscross holes in the barrier were big enough to let through bones or skulls worked free from the various corpses, yet a shade too small for me to navigate. No matter; a little Ice would fix that. I curled my hands around one narrow middle segment that had almost completely rusted, and called to the Power. Once frozen, the already weakened iron bar became so brittle I destroyed it with a single punch. Stepping through the opening, I waded upstream.

More corpses blocked my path. One, headless cadaver was special. It was dressed in a black, full-length bodysuit. The fabric was tough, resisting decay, and supplanted with long rectangular guards on the hands, shins, and knees.

This unfortunate had been one of the Lin Kuei.

* * *

Deep within the Lin Kuei complex, from my throne of Ice, I examined Ultratech's bill. It listed medical expenses, including reconstructive surgery to the hands of one guard and therapy for chronic neck pain in the other. Also present were costs incurred in hiring the sentries' temporary replacements, new "shatterproof" glass doors and windows, plus water damage to the front office. The total was a number five figures long.

I set the bill aside and, for the thirtieth time, flipped through a copy of the file Orchid had given us. Ultratech wanted the Lin Kuei to perform an assassination. They hadn't said why. The target's name was Shang Tsung. Apart from that, very little was known about him. His home was purported to be an island not on any map. A black-and-white sketch of a wizened old man with a long mandarin's mustache and beard was the closest thing they had to a picture. His true physical dimensions were strictly speculative. Corroborated reports suggested that he could change his shape into the forms of other humans or beasts at will. Rumor had it he'd lived for over a thousand years. He was reputed to have supernatural powers; conflicting accounts called him a blood-drinking vampire, a bone-rending lycanthrope, or a demon nourished by human souls.

Shang Tsung was a recluse, who according to legend permitted visitors to his isolated domain only once a generation, to hold a blood-sport Tournament open to warriors all over the world. Losers forfeited their lives and, if the stories were to be believed, their souls. Shang Tsung was the Tournament's overseer and one-time grand champion. The next Tournament would take place within two weeks.

Only one thing was known for certain about Shang Tsung. None of the agents Ultratech sent to eliminate him ever returned. Alive, that is. Charbroiled pieces of their last crack squadron had been elegantly gift-wrapped and delivered with thank-you notes to the entire executive staff.

I was intrigued.

Ultratech and the Lin Kuei were rivals at best, mortal enemies at worst. Ultratech's business empire was vast, and its tendrils extended far beyond their towering city beacons, reaching into the ugly side of city life. Their specialties were advanced weaponry and the sale of addictive synthetic drugs. They supported smaller gangs with arrangements of plausible denial. The Lin Kuei had skirmished with Ultratech's minions in the past, and unsuccessfully tried to infiltrate the cartel more than once. So why would Ultratech want to hire the clan, especially for the phenomenal reward of...

"Smoke, I am not entirely familiar with foreign currency. How much is 10,000,000,000 pounds worth?"

"Taking into account all the Lin Kuei assets I'm aware of, the clan as a whole is worth approximately one-third of that," the teacher replied, weakly.

"Ultratech must be desperate."

"Perhaps they do not intend to pay. Their offered contract specifically demands hard proof of Shang Tsung's death. They want his remains, which must be positively identified as his through DNA testing - they managed to isolate a few skin cells from a note accompanying one of Shang Tsung's 'gifts,' and they want to run a parity check on the chromosomes of-"

"So they want his head," I interrupted, cutting short Smoke's stream of incomprehensible babbling. "Go on."

"Once they've got it, why should they pay the fee? What could we do to them if they didn't?" The teacher's voice continued its progressive decrescendo, until he was nearly whispering. "Ultratech is many times wealthier than the clan, and more established. If it came to a flat-out conflict, the Lin Kuei could hurt them, perhaps badly, but we'd lose in the end. That's why the clan has done little more than skirmish with their pawns in the past."

I looked up from the file. If anything, Smoke appeared worse than he had before our trip. His skin had turned a shade more pale. He leaned unsteadily against my chamber's Ice-coated wall, arms tightly folded, and his eyes were half-closed.

"Is something causing you discomfort?"

"Well, since you bring it up, this chamber is a bit cold."

In truth, I kept the chamber no colder than a typical winter night. Smoke used to train students outdoors under similar conditions. It occurred to me that his ailment, whatever it was, could have weakened his resistance to temperature extremes. I released the hold my frame of mind had on the surroundings. While I could not warm the chamber, I could at least cease to chill it. "Is this acceptable?"

"I'll manage."

"Very well. There is another matter I need to speak to you about."

"You're thinking of volunteering to carry out the contract, aren't you. Even though Shang Tsung has destroyed dozens of would-be assassins, and the gods only know how many others."

"That is what makes him the ultimate quarry. The ultimate challenge."

"I can understand the temptation."

"My question is this: has the Triumvirate already selected another clan member to carry out this assignment?"  
He pondered for several seconds before replying. "I have not had the privilege of being in their presence for some time, yet I suspect they would grant your desire. After all, they did send you to Ultratech in the first place."

"And that is something else on my mind. Why was I selected to be the clan's ambassador to Ultratech?"

"Because of your innate business sense, complete familiarity with the terrain, and sterling diplomatic skills?" he returned, smiling a little.

"You may dispense with the sarcasm. My point is that serving as an ambassador entailed risks, which any lesser member could have taken. I am curious why they considered me suitably expendable, even though I am the clan's only Ice master."

Smoke's eyes flickered, changing to a lighter shade of grey. One of the plumes wafting from his collar drifted at an oblique angle from the rest. There could be no mistaking that reaction. I'd seen it all too plainly, two years before. My good hand curled tightly around the arm of my Ice throne.

"You are concealing something. Tell me." He looked away, uncomfortably, and was about to speak when he broke into another of his episodic coughing fits. This one was longer and more severe than usual. At one point, he put his hand around his neck, as if to protect it from a constricting noose.

"This chamber definitely does not agree with you," I observed. "We should continue this elsewhere."

Smoke shook his head. "No," he wheezed, clearing his throat, "this is one of the few places that is safe from prying ears. Pyre saw to that."

"Does it matter whether anyone overhears you?"

"I? It wouldn't matter if I told the Triumvirate to jump in a bottomless pit. It is your reaction that should not be overheard."  
"My reaction?"

"Yes. You are no longer the clan's only Ice master. An initiate has recently earned his place as a clan member in full standing. His raw talent for Ice has the potential to exceed even yours."

"Interesting. I did not know this."

"You've isolated yourself in this freezer for the past two years. A dragon could devour the sun and you wouldn't know it." For one moment, a hint of the caustic-tongued mentor I remembered showed through.

"If you expected this information to provoke me, then you are deluding yourself. I have long since lost the ability to feel envy, or anything else."

"Eh? Do you really believe that?"

"You are not worth lying to."

"Then you're the one with illusions. You might not envy another's Power, but you're no automaton. If anything, you're ruled by the very emotions whose existence you deny. You care deeply about your brother; the one and only time you've exercised your authority as a Hierarchy member was for his sake. You hate modern technology, and become claustrophobic when surrounded by it; hell, you go into a thinly concealed panic at the thought of riding in an automobile. And-"

"That will be enough."

"-whenever confronted with an idea that cuts you to the quick, your immediate reaction is to shut it out, as if ignoring the cause of your worries will make them go away. Go ahead, order me to be silent all you please; it won't change a thing." I couldn't tell whether he was deliberately baiting me, or merely caught up in his newfound tendency to ramble. Either way, I was not going to let his wild theories distract me.

"My only 'worry' is that you are concealing something important about the clan's new Ice master. Are you?"  
He shrugged. "I'm duty bound to answer you truthfully."

"Who is he, then?"

"He hasn't selected a use-name for himself yet."

"I did not ask for a use-name; I want to know who he is."

"It isn't my place to keep biographies of all my students."

"Perhaps not, but I think you know about this one." The inside of my mouth suddenly felt very dry. I stepped down from my Ice throne. "Who. Is. He."

"He is your brother."

"WHAT!?"

Smoke winced and rubbed his ears. "He passed the Test; you know what that means."

"My brother was not supposed to be Tested! The Lin Kuei does not force the Test upon more than one offspring per family!"

"Usually yes, but-"

"Whoever administered his Test is a dead man," I seethed. "I am going to kill him."

"Are you. Are you really," chuckled the teacher.

Something fierce kindled inside of me. I seized his collar with my left hand and yanked him close. My right hand was still maimed from Orchid's gash, but it functioned well enough to bring forth a concentrated aura of Power. "The man who gave that Test is dead where he stands. Even if he is one of the Triumvirate. Even if he is you. Now tell me WHO TESTED MY BROTHER!"

"You did."

The Power I'd called slipped from between my fingers. My uninjured hand fell away from the teacher's collar. "What...?"

"Two years ago, you destroyed your brother's laboratory and all its contents."

"But he wasn't burned..."

"The Test consists of trauma. It does not necessarily have to be physical trauma, though that is what the Lin Kuei usually inflict. Your brother stumbled onto his Power that night, after fleeing the burning lab, when his own tears changed to Ice. Two days later, he came to us. To me, in fact. I tried to talk him out of joining the clan, but he's as stubborn as you are, and had nowhere else to go. You'd forbidden him to leave the village. The only way he could study the science he loved was to get around your ban. He thought that being a clan member might give him some leverage to use against you. He requested that I not inform you of his new affiliation. I promised him the next best thing, that I would tell you only if asked."

I have been scorched with flame. I have been stabbed with steel blades. No physical injury could compare to the bitter shock of knowing what I'd done, and to whom I'd done it.

"Leave me," I commanded, wearily. The teacher raised an eyebrow. "I said _begone!_" He bowed and departed without further protest.

Alone in my chamber of Ice, I clawed at my mask and hood, awkwardly tugging them off. With a lagging, unsteady gait, I approached one of the chamber's walls. Its swirling curlicues of frost encircled an inset, silver-backed mirror. The mirror's shiny surface reflected the image of a stranger, clad in ceremonial blue and sable. He was taller than average, with short black hair and narrow, sienna eyes. His complexion was atypically pale, for a native Chinese. The left half of his face was a mass of blistered fire-scars from the cheek downward.

I used to have a certain tolerance for the stranger in the mirror. When the fisherman was murdered, I disliked him. Now that I knew he'd damned my brother to serve the Lin Kuei for life, I was filled with contempt for him. My left hand instantly closed in a fist, chambered, and snapped out at the image. The mirror cracked in a spiderweb pattern, dividing the stranger's effigy into discrete, triangle-shaped pieces. One of the shards cut into my extended knuckle. A thin trickle of blood slid down from where I'd hit the mirror. It crawled a few centimeters before it froze, a gossamer fragment of red against a background of blue and white.

* * *

**end section one of part three**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	10. Part 3 Section 2

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 3 of 4: Section 2** **written by Victar  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 3 Section 2 ****

* * *

**The decapitated Lin Kuei was merely an ordinary clan member; had he possessed the Power, it would have consumed his remains over the course of time, gradually transmuting them into the appropriate element. Examining the body, I found a small notebook wrapped in rose petals and a gossamer handkerchief, stowed directly over his heart. Half the volume's pages were crammed with haphazard brush strokes; the second half was blank. Blood from the sewer pipe had seeped through the binding, smearing over most of the journal's contents. Only bits and pieces remained legible. They were... poetry? I peered closer:

_Milady, you are beauty given flesh  
Your laugh is the peal of songbirds  
Your face is a vision of wonder  
Your every motion is elegance  
It is an honor to bask in your presence  
My heart and soul are yours eternal  
I will be your protector  
I will defend you to my last breath  
_

Apparently, he had.

Something was wrong. Lin Kuei do not court wives; they annex them. Nothing short of self-destructive madness could lead a Lin Kuei to turn his back on the clan, instead devoting himself as a bodyguard to one person. I sincerely doubted this wretch had been of sound mind when he perished. Scanning the other bodies, I noted that they were all male. Many were clothed in some type of warrior's uniform, from samurai armor to camouflage fatigues. A suspicion crept in the back of my mind.

I tossed the verses over my shoulder and continued deeper into the sewer, pushing aside or climbing over various remains. The mess I sloshed through ran parallel to the abyss' edge, until I reached a walled-up dead end with a wide drain hole in the ceiling. Fresh blood poured down from it; the continual flow hid whatever lay beyond. While I could have sworn I'd seen nothing above this level from the outside, the hole had to lead somewhere. The drain tingled with a light, breezy sort of Power. It didn't feel like a ward, or anything harmful. When I hurled a pebble up through the flow of blood, nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, I jumped and seized hold of the hole's edge. I pulled against the downward suction of the falling blood and swung my legs over the drain's lip, crawling into whatever lay beyond.

* * *

I examined my latest Ice sculpture, a book the size of an atlas. It had taken me ten hours to forge its leaf-thin pages and graft them to the binding. The finished product was worth the effort. I flipped the blank pages back and forth, basking in their faint emanations of applied Power. An ordinary person's hands would have melted them or broken them apart, but not mine. As a test, I closed my eyes and thought of a single sentence. When next I looked down upon the Ice tome, the words had etched themselves onto its title page.

A clogged cough sounded behind me.

"I hear you've released your brother from your edict," Smoke rasped, once he could speak. The fact that I hadn't noticed his arrival indicated how deeply involved I'd been in my work. I closed the book and started to trace a handful of stylized lines around the border of its cover.

"You are not supposed to approach me unless summoned."

"No, I'm not. What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing. It is nearly time for me to leave. There is a boat I must catch."

"A boat?"

I handed him an envelope from within my tunic. His brows lifted slightly when he took it; most likely, he could feel its faint wisps of necromantic Power. Someone singularly lethal had impressed its dragon-shaped wax seal. Smoke opened the envelope and scanned the card inside. Penned with sparkling gold ink, the invitation told of a freestyle martial arts Tournament and personally solicited my participation. Shang Tsung, the Tournament's host, had signed it with sweeping brush strokes.

"Where did you get this?" Smoke asked, putting the invitation away and giving the envelope back.

"It was resting on my sleeping mat last evening."

"Have you decided to enter this Tournament?"

"Yes."

"If Shang Tsung knows enough to send this to you, then he is undoubtedly aware of your true intent."

"I must find Shang Tsung before I can slay him. I am gambling that if I accept his invitation, I will be brought directly to his doorstep."

"The whole thing sounds like a trap."

"It is a trap. Of that much I am certain."

"Then take this with you." I glanced over my shoulder at him. He held out a stoppered vial. A thick mass of cloudy grey sloshed and swirled against its clear glass walls. "It's-"

"I know what it is," I interrupted, accepting the object and stowing it away.

"Be careful. It can incapacitate one for hours. Your brother created the formula, with a little help from me. I've been participating in quite a few of his experiments, lately." He shrugged, coughing a few more times. "It isn't as if I have anything to lose."

"Did you come simply to give me the vial?"

"No. I came because I have regrets."

I took a closer look at him. It was hard to discern whether he was in worse condition than yesterday, but he definitely did not appear any better. "That is your sickness talking. Lin Kuei do not have regrets."

"This one does."

I returned to tracing an abstract design into the Ice volume's cover.

"Have you ever wondered why you were Tested?" Smoke inquired, hesitantly.

"Because I was the eldest son."

"If the Lin Kuei Tested every family's firstborn son, they wouldn't have time to do anything else."

"I was known to have an affinity for winter."

"So? Many people like winter."

"My grandfather was a clan member gifted with the Power," I growled, tiring of this guessing game.

"True, but only one surviving Lin Kuei knew who he was - who his family was."

"Get to the point."

The teacher did not say anything at first. When he did speak, his voice was a croaking whisper. "Your grandfather was a cruel person. I hated him. I hated him so much I thought I'd die. Did I ever mention that?"

"Hmph."

"He and his underlings murdered my family, as an example of what would happen to anyone else who purchased 'protection' from the Black Dragons. I'll never forget watching him stiffen my sister into a brittle statue of Ice, and casually dismember her into pieces of thawing blood and meat.

"I tried to kill him once, and failed. In retaliation, he had me tortured. After holding out for thirty days, I swore an oath of fealty to him. Anything to stop the pain. He treated me like refuse. I never had the courage to challenge him before he died.

"He left behind a grandson whose pale countenance resembled his, and who shared his relish for the cold months - you. When you were old enough, I took a lifetime's worth of revenge on you. I had you Tested."

"Is that all? I thought it might be something important."

"There is one more matter. You asked why I'd come. I am here to apologize."

"What is wrong with you?" I demanded, whirling around.

"I beg your forgiveness." And he really did seem to be begging, if I gauged that tone of his voice correctly. I'd never heard him use it before.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" I shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him in a frenzy. "Lin Kuei do not apologize! Your behavior has become thoroughly bizarre of late! What is this disease that is driving you mad!?"

"Eh? Oh, that. It has to do with my Power."

"Is your Talent so weak that you can no longer call upon it?" I probed, letting him go.

"Quite the opposite. I have too much Talent. It's all I can do every waking moment to keep my element in check, and even then..." he gestured loosely to the ashen plumes drifting from his collar. "The problem is, my respiratory system is quite mortal."

"Doesn't your Power shield you?"

"My Power is killing me. When I call upon it, yes, it will protect me in the short term; however, the detrimental side effects worsen as soon as I let it go. The masks I once wore had specially designed filters, to make breathing easier. I used to think that would be enough, but the masks don't make a difference anymore. I've a few months left. Possibly less."

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do. You have a maximum of nine years left before your entrails start to Ice over. Your grandfather died at age fifty, but you use the Power much more frequently than he did. Every time you summon your element, you accelerate the rate at which it wears upon you. Keep it up, and you won't see your fourth decade."

Gently, I whisked away the last Ice shavings from the book's cover. "I've long suspected that the Power had a price. Power always does."

"Be careful to whom you repeat that. It is one of the clan's most closely guarded secrets. The Triumvirate worries that if clan members were to learn the consequences of their Power, they might become inhibited. You know that few Lin Kuei perish of old age. Those who do survive long enough fall ill are quickly disposed of. There was an attempt on my life yesterday evening." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I trained that kid for five years. Tried to teach him everything I knew, yet even in this weakened state I killed him without taking a single wound. I'm not as good a teacher as I thought."

"You were good enough." I placed the volume inside an insulated compartment within my throne and headed for the chamber's double doors.

"Are you going to see your brother before you leave?"

"There will be time enough for that when I return."

"And if you don't return?"

"Then he will inherit this room and all its contents, including you."

Smoke muttered, "I'll see you in Hell too," as I left the cavern that had been my home for two years. I did not look back.

* * *

The hole led into a dungeon cell. Grey-bricked walls surrounded a cement floor in the shape of a shallow funnel. Many smaller pipes, some no wider than my arm, stuck out of the walls near the level of the sloping floor. Fresh blood streamed through them and poured down the central drain. There were no living prisoners in the cell, though a few bodies with cut throats rested along the edges, their inertia too great for the red liquid's flow to push them down the drain. A pair of tattered skeletons hung in iron chains affixed to the cells' walls. One was shackled by its wrists; the other was held upside down, by its ankles. Both were suspended above the floor.

This was either Leucrotta Castle, or an invisible dungeon sitting on top of the ravine's edge. I suspected the former. The Power I'd sensed coming from the drain felt akin to teleportation magic. It must be very convenient to instantly transport one's garbage to a dumping site far away.

At the far lip of the floor-funnel, above blood level's highest mark, was the cell's sole door. It was made of solid iron except for a small, rectangular opening near eye level. Peering through the opening, I saw an empty hallway with similar doors dispersed along it. This particular door was locked, and when I tapped on it, the deep echo told me that it was much thicker than the grate I'd broken through. Hardly any rust marred the door's hinges. Attempting to freeze and force my way through it would have taken at least an hour. This called for a little finesse.

I poked my fingers through the vent and summoned the Power. Sending the mystic energy along the door's far surface, into its keyhole, I strained to vicariously feel the locking mechanism inside. Because of my training, I was quite familiar with commonplace tumbler latches such as this one. I'd used this skill to noiselessly break into a target's home more than once. Working from touch, or rather, what the Power told me it touched, I shaped a key of ice inside the lock and willed it to turn. The lock resisted at first, then gave way with a _crink_ sound. Before opening the door, I covered its hinges with blood scooped from the ground, in order to keep them from squeaking.

The adjoining cells held nothing but more corpses and funnel-shaped blood pools. No one patrolled the dungeon, perhaps because there were no living prisoners inside it. I found the stairs up with little trouble. They led to a carpeted expanse, dimly lit with glittering chandeliers hung from the spacious ceiling at far intervals. Huge paintings adorned the walls, depicting grim specters, demons, and monsters. One had a savage cross between a horse and a hellhound mauling a human infant. Another showed a fiery being incinerating an entire village. The third depicted a tribe of ghouls feasting on what they'd snatched from an open grave. Whoever ornamented these walls had an artistic taste that could at best be called morbid.

A servant advanced from further down the hallway. He wore the formal livery of a butler, yet there were rips and stained patches where the fabric covered his elbows and knees. His gait was jerky, unnatural. I hid in the shadow of the dungeon entrance's door jamb and observed him. When he came closer, I caught the smell of pus festering in an open wound. The skin of his hands and gaunt face was dull gray, stiff, and peeling. Chunks of his lower lip were missing, baring tarnished teeth and blackened gums. He stared ahead vacantly. Tiny insects crawled in his oily, disheveled hair. An incision cut underneath his chin, across the jugular; stains of blood long since bled discolored his neck. The air tingled with necromantic Power in his wake.

He was no more alive than any of the prisoners I'd left behind.

Once the zombie was gone, I slipped into the hallway. Compared to blindly feeling my way through the Maze, navigating Leucrotta Castle was relatively simple. Some type of Power permeated the castle's center, where I'd glimpsed the golden staircase, and I let my sensitivity to it be my guide. Occasionally, I ran into more zombie attendants, but none of them noticed me. Their empty eyes were always fixed straight ahead, never wandering, and their other senses were long since decayed. I worked my way past marble balconies, through arches ornamented with precious jewels, along more halls decorated with horrid paintings, and up a great many staircases.

Constantly on edge, I anticipated running into the castle's guards or residents, yet none appeared. Where were they? If Leucrotta Castle was "heavily guarded" then I was a pyromaniac. My unease only increased when I reached the wooden double doors leading into the topmost crown of the castle's tallest tower. Etched into the doors were countless, intricate carvings of death and suffering, forming a tortured mosaic. No sounds came through the gateway.

Pushing the doors open, I beheld a deserted room. Plush, royal purple carpeting covered the floor; ruby-studded tapestries draped upon the smooth stone walls. There was little furnishing, except for the object of my search: a winding stairway that gleamed as though it were coated with purest gold. Its steps were paper-thin metal sheets, and its banister was a strip of curling wire more narrow than my finger, ornamented with inset pearls. The stairs appeared too fragile to bear the weight of a mouse, let alone a man, yet judging from their aura of Power I suspected their strength had been enhanced by mystical means. The stairs curled in a spiral, stretching up through a hole in the raised ceiling. A pinprick crevice of sunlight glinted far above.  
Separating me from the escape route was a fully visible, sea-green ward, wrapped in a cylinder around the staircase. It stretched about thirty meters up from the floor, until it met the domed ceiling. This barrier had a less destructive feel than the red one I'd seen earlier. Perhaps my Power could counteract its effects long enough for me to pass through. I called a nimbus of blue-white haze to my hand and delicately probed the shimmering ward, brushing against it with the furthest trace of vorpal radiance coating my extended fingertip.

A violent electrical jolt ran through me. I felt myself falling backward; my skull hit the floor with a dull _thud_. My limbs wouldn't respond to my commands. Forcing my way through the ward was definitely not an option.

Rippling peals of feminine laughter came from the side. "What do we have here, Balthazaar? Someone trying to break through the blockade?" I'd recovered enough self-control to recall the Power, yet when I tried to move it was all I could manage to turn my head and watch the speaker materialize. First there came a deep yellow glow of pulsing energy, with prominent curves near the hips and chest. The curves filled out with unblemished alabaster skin, clothed in scant ribbons of jet. A face emerged, with alluring eyes and green hair shining like sunlight scattered on ocean waves. She could have passed for human if not for the long, black bat-wings sprouting from her shoulders. Another, smaller pair of wings formed elaborate barrettes resting on her head. Her skin-tight leotard split into a pair of tapering strips as it ran over her bosom and shoulders, revealing more of her figure than it hid. Netted stocking with bat-like shadows clung tightly to her supple legs and dainty feet. Her spike-heeled shoes rested just a trace above the ground.

She was a little too perfect. It wasn't just her unearthly beauty, sterling and immaculate beyond description. A real woman's tresses do not fan and sway in still air. A real woman's breasts sag from gravity, unless supported by something stronger than a string of silk. Magnifying the seductive influence were the subtle ripples of Power streaming from her exquisite figure. Her aura was like and yet unlike the sphinx's mesmerizing gaze. Where the sphinx's Power controlled the body, hers ensorcelled the mind. There could be no doubt who the lovesick Lin Kuei had been writing about, in his last poem.

A dusky grey creature took form by her side. It was an exotic hybrid between lupine and reptile; the light fur coat on its lithe wolf body gave way to patches of inky scales on its tail, underbelly, and feet. Its eyes were deep red, the color of setting sun, and burned almost as fiercely. Ribbed wings longer than its body folded against its shoulders; the hairless skin between each wingbone rippled as it flexed the appendages. A pair of small claws projected from the wings' mid-joints. The wolf-drake was easily four times as large as a true wolf.

"You look strong. I like that," purred the demoness, flashing a dazzling smile. Her teeth were sea-foam white, every bit as flawless as the rest of her, though her canines had unusually prominent points.**

* * *

** **end section two of part three**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	11. Part 3 Section 3

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 3 of 4: Section 3** **written by Victar  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 3 Section 3 ****

* * *

**Shang Tsung's lackeys concealed their faces underneath hood-masks in the vague shape of a wolf's head. The masks were colored black on one half, white on the other, with eye slits were tinted deep red. When I showed the hooded drones my invitation, they allowed me to board Shang Tsung's vessel "Dragon Wing." "Dragon Toothpick" would have been a more accurate designation. Its planks creaked raucously. The mast leaned so far to the right it threatened to break off, and the sails were covered with holes and threadbare patches. Water seeped into the below decks, which the crew had to bail out twice a day. The wood was decaying, the rivets were loose, and the ropes were badly frayed. If Shang Tsung truly was a thousand years old, he must have acquired this boat when he was eighteen.

Dragon Wing would have been rotting at the bottom of the sea if not for the web of necromantic Power that kept it bound together. Afterimages of spent life force pulsed beneath the surface of every splinter. Shang Tsung had invested a great deal of mystic energy in this boat, much more than what any Lin Kuei could expend from his own psyche. There was only one way the sorcerer could have gotten it - large scale human sacrifice. Perhaps animal sacrifice as well, but the life force of animals is not as adaptable to sorcerous manipulation. Dragon Wing was an artifact of pure evil, christened in slaughter and mortared with lifeblood.

One of the Lin Kuei's few redeeming points is that they no longer engage in necromancy. Once, clan members with the Power hunted whole villages of victims to fuel their supernatural might. Other gangs and warlords soon recognized the threat, and united against it. The resulting catastrophe was nearly the Lin Kuei's end. Only a fifth of the clan survived. The bloodlines with Power over Stone and Light were completely wiped out, and for a time it seemed the Ice bloodlines had been. Clan law handed down since that time forbids using necromancy to augment one's Power, on pain of immediate death. The queasy feel of blood-sacrifice Power is so strong, so unique that one cannot hide it from a Lin Kuei. No clan member has broken the law in centuries and lived to tell of it.

The sun was sinking below the horizon when Dragon Wing reached Hong Kong, its final port before the trip to Shang Tsung's island home. A crowd of warriors boarded, bringing the total number of passengers to approximately fifty. I might have to duel with any of them in the upcoming Tournament, so I carefully watched them from atop the upper decks, unnoticed.

Two of the new entrants stood out from all the rest. One was a Chinese man, relatively nondescript except for his age. He could not have been over twenty-five, possibly making him the youngest person on the boat. Most of the warriors on Dragon Wing were in their thirties or close to it. The young fighter carried himself with the relaxed grace of a professional. His clear brown eyes were instantly perceptive. When his gaze swept past where I crouched, he gave no sign of seeing me, but I think he did. What surprised me the most was his Power. The essence of Fire existed within him, yet it had a different texture than Ember's rapacious burning, or Sektor's angry sputtering. His Fire was cleaner somehow, and brighter, even though its raw magnitude would have been dwarfed by Pyre's sheer might.

The other passenger of note was Caucasian. Every once in a while, he'd take a hand-held comb and run it through his brown hair. His light blue suit with matching tie and pink shirt seemed outlandish compared to the loose clothing all the other fighters wore. He kept his mirror-like dark glasses on well past sunset. Though not out of shape, he appeared scrawny compared to some. I knew better than to trust appearances. Traces of unfamiliar Power clung to him, leaving faint echoes in his wake.

Commotion occurred as Dragon Wing launched that evening. A white-dressed man carrying a two-handed firearm sprinted down the dock, pursued by two others in dull green. He fired his weapon into a pair of barrels, igniting their contents. They exploded in a burst of violence, distracting his pursuers and buying him time. Dropping his weapon, he hurled himself off the end of the dock. Dragon Wing was over ten meters away, and its crew seemed disinclined to turn back. Judging by the arc of his leap, he was going to fall short; until, with a minor burst of Power, he tucked himself into a ball and somersaulted end over end. Whatever Talent he'd unlocked supported him well past when he should have plunged into the water. It gave out quickly, leaving him less than a quarter second to unroll and seize Dragon Wing's rim. He winced as his body slammed into the boat's side, and pulled himself aboard.

"Dude, was that real?" asked the man in sunglasses, astonished. He spoke in English, with a strong American accent.

"No, it's an illusion..." sneered the new arrival. Then he did a double take. "Hey, you're Johnny Cage! Can I have your autograph?"

Now the newcomer was close enough for me to get a good look at him. His short, scruffy black hair was thinning at the edges, and swept into a prominent widow's peak on his forehead. Several days' worth of unshaved stubble covered his face. Layers of unwashed grime darkened his skin. The breeze that ruffled Dragon Wing's sails also carried evidence of his poor hygiene. His left eye was brown. His right was a glowing red lens, set into a metal implant covering a quarter of his face. There could be no mistake. This was Kano, current overlord of the Black Dragons. He was widely credited with turning what was once a fading, broken-down set of loosely affiliated gangs into an international organized crime cartel, and one of the Lin Kuei's stiffest competitors.

Perhaps I'd have the chance to kill him, once Shang Tsung was disposed of.

"C'mon, Cage, say it! 'I'll be back!'" The _crack_ of Kano's fist hitting Cage's jaw brought me out of my musings. Cage's sunglasses fell to the ground, uncovering his sky-blue eyes.

"That wasn't my movie!" the actor retorted, shading his eyes with one hand.

"Get up Cage! You got no stunt men to take hits for ya here!"

"I do my own stunts!"

A pair of gangsters accompanied Kano. With vicious leers on their faces, all three hoods advanced upon the fallen actor. The one on the right smacked his fist into his hand, sniggering.

"I'd say the movie star is unfairly outnumbered," came a new voice. It was the Fire-tinged young man I'd noted earlier.

"Who the fuck are you?" Kano snapped.

"My friends call me Liu Kang. You are not a friend."

By then, Cage's vision had adjusted to the loss of his sunglasses. He took advantage of the distraction to recover his footing. His Power flared, propelling him forward with a lunging kick to Kano's head. Caught by surprise, the outlaw had no time to defend himself. Before Kano's two friends could step forward to help him, Liu Kang soared into them with a swiftness surpassing anything I'd ever seen. He flew through the air, driving his extended heel into the chest of one gangster. When the second gangster made a grab for Liu Kang's neck, he ducked and snapped a kick at the man's ankles. As the gangster toppled over, Liu Kang accelerated his attack into a spin, whipping fully around and hooking his extended leg so that it dug into the falling man's side.

Kano and his friends were all stretched upon the ground, in varying degrees of consciousness. The altercation was over as quickly as it had begun. I made a note to be wary of Liu Kang's speed and Cage's timing.

Lin Kuei...

I'd been so engrossed in the struggle below that I wasn't aware of what crept upon me until too late. A hard, bony hand grasped my throat. My assailant was - another Lin Kuei? No. While his outfit and mask exactly matched the cut of the clan's ceremonial uniform, it was ochre-yellow and black. No Lin Kuei wears those colors. His garb was a mockery of mine.

Look into my eyes! The voice was hollow, yet compelling. I had no choice save to obey. At first his eyes were featureless expanses of white; then they came to life with a rupture of blinding energy...

A puppy was barking. I saw my own silhouette through the eyes of stranger, and felt a black dagger slice into my throat. My mouth worked of its own accord, saying "What do you want? I have little, but if you want to steal something take it! Just don't hurt my wife and child!" The silhouette silently thrust his weapon between my ribs, into my heart. "Why...?" Sinking back and down, I heard a woman's screams, a child's wailing, and the _yipe_ of a dog being kicked.

The scene slipped away. Once again, I was staring into the eyes of a man who held me by the neck - no, not a man. Not anymore. He had no breath and no pulse. His Power was fueled with pure rage. Hatred burned inside him, so fiercely that its heat made me flinch.

"No!" I gasped. "It can't be... I... I..."

Yesss... you murdered me exactly two years ago this day. But my demons have allowed me to return and avenge my death! You have already cheated me of vengeance on Pyre. Your demise will be all the more agonizing for it! He raised me off the ship's floor. Dangling in his steel grip, I was too shocked to fight back as his hand tightened upon my throat. I could kill you at this moment, but I am not a murderer. We will meet at the tournament, and then, Lin Kuei, you will pay for your crimes.

He let go of my neck. I collapsed, clutching my throat with my uninjured hand. The specter remained in front of me, a blazing pillar of malice.

"You are - _choke_ - a fool for sparing my life."

That has yet to be seen.

* * *

"I see you had to come through our sewers. Messy, aren't they?" laughed the demoness, eyeing the stains of gore covering my tattered uniform. "Things have been a teeny bit rough around here, lately. Lots of folks just disappeared. You're trying to make your way out, aren't you? Well, I wish I could help you, but I won't."

I concentrated on keeping the Power close at hand and tried to get up. My legs were weak, and not solely because of the electrical shock I'd just experienced. Dizziness briefly forced me to take my eyes off the vision of loveliness, and stare at the floor instead.

"Don't turn away like that," she pouted. "I've other matters to attend to. It isn't as if I owe you anything... or do I?" She leaned back. Her wings dissolved into a cloud of bats, which darted underneath her. Their silent fluttering suspended her as if she were seated in an invisible throne. She crossed her legs and held out one hand. A shimmer of light appeared upon her palm; it quickly resolved itself into an elegant booklet. Her slender fingers flipped through its pages for an instant; then she closed the booklet, and it promptly vanished in a tiny shower of sparks.

"Of course, you don't have to try to go back." The demoness slipped off her chair of hovering bats and advanced toward me, with a fervid look in her sea-green eyes. "You could always stay down here, with me." She tossed her vivid tresses, the color of which blended with the radiant ward nearby. "Who knows? You might even come to like it here."

"I cannot stay. There is a contract I must carry out," I told her, quietly, keeping the Power ready. It was draining, to summon and merely hold the Power, but I needed to stall for more time before I could take action. I took a half-dragging step to the side, not yet able to walk normally. The ward was directly behind me now, and the demoness in front.

"Forget about that. Forget about everything." She'd come so close I could feel the soft whisper of her breath on my face.

She smelled of jasmine and long summer nights. "Come. You can be my Champion. I crave a new protector. Someone to keep me safe from all harm. You'll be excellent."

"You already have a wolf-drake bodyguard."

"Balthazaar? Oh, he's a dear, but he's one of the Overlord's minions. The Overlord and his entourage are due back from their latest battle any moment now. He's so cranky whenever he comes back from his silly war. Sometimes he takes it out on me. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?" Her lower lip trembled. She reached for my shoulder; before she could touch it, I took her finely manicured hands in my own. If she felt the chill coating my palms, she gave no sign. "You're not worried about falling asleep in Limbo, are you? Don't be. I have ways of keeping men awake for a very long time." Her comeliness was matched only by her vulnerability.

"There is something I must ask of you, huntress," I whispered, clasping her hands a shade more securely.

"Yes?"

I pushed on her shoulder, spinning her around until her limbs were forced behind her back and holding her in a stiff armlock. At the same time, I wrapped my free right arm around her neck. "Deactivate the ward or I will kill you!"

Balthazaar sprang toward us with a howl, even though I was using his demon mistress as a living shield. Without letting go of her neck, I twisted my right wrist so that the fingers were pointing at him, and sent forth some of the Power I'd been storing. The Ice immobilized him in mid-leap, his slavering jaws fixed hardly a decimeter away from my face.

"_Let me go!_ You're under my spell! I COMMAND YOU TO-" screamed the demoness, as I dragged her to the side. The Ice's effect on Balthazaar wore off, but by then we were no longer in his path. He hurtled into the ward that had been behind me.

It erupted in a furious discharge of lightning, which drowned out the demoness' piercing shrieks. When it subsided, Balthazaar lay on the ground. His jaws were slack and his fur was singed. A whimper escaped his lips. His paws twitched, jerkily.

"Your enchantments don't work on me," I warned. "With my Power in effect, I can be as cold as necessary in more ways than one." She uttered a wordless cry of wrath and dug the spike of her high heel into my foot. Her bats dived at my eyes and attempted to claw or bite through the fabric of my uniform. I didn't flinch. Though the attacks hurt, I've withstood worse before. Much worse.

"Cease that or you die this instant!" I commanded. To let her know I was serious, I constricted the hold on her throat and wrenched her head back, stopping short of breaking her neck. "I repeat, deactivate the ward or I shall kill you."

"You'll never get away with this! The Overlord will destroy you!"

"Perhaps, but you will still be dead."

Her bats stopped their attempts to tear out my eyes. Trails of familiar wetness crisscross-crossed my forehead and eyelids. The demoness was quaking, not from fear, but with rage. "I'm going to have you flayed alive-"

"This is the last time I shall say it: deactivate the ward around the golden stairs or die."

"No! You plan to kill me as soon as I'm no longer of use to you."

How perceptive of her. "Do as I say, and I shall show you mercy."

"Not good enough. I can imagine what your idea of 'mercy' is."

"I will release you unharmed. You have my word."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't."

She vacillated. Her chiropteran companions fluttered every which way in confusion, making faint squeaks. Balthazaar whined and flopped onto his belly.

"Kaa naama kaa lajeraama," the demoness seethed, through gritted teeth. The ward blinked off. "I've kept my half of the bargain. Now keep yours!"

"In a moment." I pushed her ahead of me, through where the ward had been; when no jolt of electricity resulted, I stepped onto the staircase. Despite its frail appearance, it held my weight as sturdily as cast iron. "Kaa naama kaa lajeraama!" I intoned, matching the vocal pitch she had used a moment earlier. The ward instantly reappeared.

She convulsed frantically, perhaps guessing my intentions. One of her arms worked free and she was about to elbow me in the stomach when I shoved her away, unharmed. She crashed into the ward and screeched when its electricity streamed through her body. I hadn't made any promises about what she might run into after I released her.

The demoness collapsed on the ward's far side. Her bats hovered over their prone mistress, almost appearing anxious for her well being. Balthazaar growled. He'd managed to push himself up on his front legs, though his hind legs were still limp and unresponsive. I could have deactivated the ward again and killed the succubus while she lay helpless, but I doubted Balthazaar would stand idly by while I did so. Though weakened, he posed enough of a threat that I'd have to destroy him before I could kill her, and I had no desire to hurt the animal.

In any case, my purpose was to slay Shang Tsung, not waste time on other stray demons. The decision made, I turned around and raced up the stairs two at time, following their spiral toward the exit overhead and all it represented: escape, freedom, and most importantly, another chance to kill Shang Tsung.

I continued at a steady sprint through and beyond Leucrotta Castle's topmost tower, unmindful of the fatigue accruing in my legs as the minutes ticked by. There could be no stopping to rest until I was free of this realm. I fixed my eyes on the crevice of light at the stairs' distant summit. The closer it came, the harder it was for me to see; soon I was navigating the stairs by feel, blinded by the intense sunlight. When oppressive warmth streamed on my skin, I knew I'd reached the surface of Limbo. Shading my eyes with one hand, I tried to distinguish the shapes in front of them.

One of the shapes hissed.

A creaking _raawk_ and an unnatural, high-pitched whistle joined this hiss. All three sounds were familiar. They came from three darkened shadows ahead, silhouetted against the brilliant sunlight. A fourth shadow stepped in front of them, putting himself between my eyes and the orange orb in the sky. The first three shadows resolved themselves into a gold-furred rakshasa, a reptilian horror, and a metal devil. The fourth shadow remained a featureless mass of inky blackness.

"Hello, Subby," sneered the rouge Lin Kuei known as Saibot. "Did you miss us?"**

* * *

** **end section three of part three**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	12. Part 3 Section 4

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 3 of 4: Section 1** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 3 Section 4 **

**

* * *

**At sunrise, another dozen ships joined Dragon Wing outside the docks of Shang Tsung's island fortress. Something had changed during the night. Though the weather was mild, the air tingled with static charge. The sea breeze carried a putrid odor that contaminated its usual salty tang.

Shang Tsung's fortress reeked of necromantic blood-sacrifice. When most of the warriors on Dragon Wing gazed on it, they saw an ancient temple, decked gaily in anticipation of the coming Tournament. I saw a pit pulsing with corrupted life-force and thousands of enslaved souls. Liu Kang may have also felt it, judging from his stern frown and sudden tension.

There was a day of practice and training. We were watched the entire time, and not just by the rows of hooded guards. I felt the presence of astral eyes observing, analyzing, comparing from deep within the fortress. Whoever scried us carried so much necromantic Power that traces of it leaked from him, like plumes of smoke from my former teacher.

The next morning, Shang Tsung made a personal appearance. All the Tournament's entrants gathered in his spacious courtyard to hear him. He addressed us from an elevated platform, with a ribbed green roof to keep out the sun's rays.

Rows of hooded guards flanked him, but his most impressive defender was a massive beast-man by his left hand. The beast-man stood over two and a half meters tall. Four massive arms studded his torso. Each of his hands had two fingers and one thumb. His skin was the color of dulled bronze, with misshapen greenish splotches on the arms. His eyes were solid red, without pupils, and his long black hair was swept up in a plume. He wore little save a loincloth and a red cape with a golden clasp. Ultratech's file had referred to him as "Goro," the two-thousand year old alien prince and reigning champion of Shang Tsung's Tournament. According to legend, no one had beaten him in five hundred years. I believed the legend.

Compared to the mammoth Goro, Shang Tsung was a feeble old wretch. Long, finely tailed robes with gold trim hung loosely on his willowy frame. His features were gaunt, wrinkled and hollowed by the toll of advancing years. It would be difficult to believe he was the Tournament's grand champion, if not for his Power.

I'd felt the death magic in his ship. I'd felt the necromancy permeating his dwelling. Shang Tsung was the arcane web's nexus, a living lynchpin for the thousands of slayings that had taken place here, on unholy ground. He did not command the vast resources of Power as much as support and guide them. The sorcerer had direct access to only a trickle of the flood of desecrated life essence, though even that trickle was still a formidable amount. I wondered what he was hoarding all the necromantic energy for.

"Welcome, warriors, to the greatest of all martial arts Tournaments." Shang Tsung's sibilant voice projected with unnatural fervor, resonating across the fighters' gathered ranks. "You have all traveled great distances to be here. I hope it proves well worth it. Now, let me introduce the newest entry into our contest: Lieutenant Sonya Blade." He stretched out one hand, palm up, to a pair of hooded guards. They held a female prisoner, dressed in a form-fitting olive uniform. Despite her raven's color headband, her brown hair fell in front of her face, partially hiding it. "We found her following one of my ships to this sacred island. Like all of you, her life depends on her performance in the Tournament. But so do the lives of her companions."

With an unnaturally wide grin, Shang Tsung beckoned toward another set of guards. They restrained two more olive-clad men. Sonya lifted her head. Her mouth was set in a stern expression, contrasting the concern in her eyes as she gazed upon her subordinates. Something about her captured my attention - not sorcery, but an internal strength of will and determination. She was more than just a fighter. She was a leader, bound by duty and honor to protect her followers.

There had to be some way I could turn this to my advantage.

"Let the Tournament BEGIN!" Goro roared, thrusting a clenched fist the size of a human head in the air.

* * *

I sprang away from the golden staircase, turning in an aerial somersault and landing on dry earth. My surroundings were undeniably Limbo, composed of rocks, dirt, and bones baking underneath a merciless sun. Ahead, the ground sloped gently upward several hundred meters until its incline suddenly became steep. Behind, the slope rolled gradually downward. The golden staircase's summit poked out of a rent in the stone landscape.

"You look like you've been through Hell," Saibot commented. "I'm shocked you made it this far. How many obstacles have you blundered your way past? Five? Six?"

"It depends upon whether I count you and your creatures as an obstacle. I don't."

"Oh? When we parted company, you were running away from us at full tilt. Right, kitty?" he asked of Shandra, affectionately rubbing her neck. The fiery cat grimaced and made a low, angry sound.

"That was before." I began to gather the Power, preparing for the likely possibility of conflict. "Before I crossed the battlefield of dragongods, killed Ultratech's ogre, and looked Death itself in the eye. Compared to everything this fey land has thrown at me, your mangy pack of killers is nothing."

Shandra uttered a shrill cry. "Easy, kitty," Saibot soothed. "Good kitty. Nice kitty." She only became angrier. Her ears swiveled back and pressed flat against her head; her tail whipped about furiously. The snake demon also made an agitated noise. It restlessly dragged its claws along the ground. The metal devil's eyes flashed a touch more crimson than usual.

"You may think you've made it, but you haven't," the living shadow warned. "You need us to get you out of here alive. The trap where only that which you have loved can save you lies ahead. You can't survive it, because Lin Kuei do not love. They hate. I should know. They taught me how to hate. I hate all of them. I hate you, you obdurate jackass; I hate everything you stand for, I hate your precious Power, and I hate those freakish clan rags you're wearing!"

"Then why try to 'help' me?"

"It's what Ultratech wants."

"Why should you care what Ultratech wants?" He did not answer. His featureless black outline quivered for an instant, then held itself very still, like a fox about to pounce. "I have no quarrel with you, Saibot, but I must honor the contract on Shang Tsung and I won't let you get in my way."

"Shang Tsung is dead."

"No longer."

"Then consider the contract on him terminated," he hissed, tensely. "Ultratech wants to put you to better use. As much as I'd like to let Limbo devour your soul, it's my job to take you home with us safe and sound - or failing that, alive and not too badly mangled. You can come quietly, or you can be bludgeoned unconscious. Well?"

"Never."

He snapped his jet black fingers. His three creatures charged me as one.

* * *

Shang Tsung's 'Tournament' was a bloodbath.

All matches were to the death. If the winner did not kill his opponent, Shang Tsung's guards slew the loser with a quick thrust of their spears. In either case, the devil necromancer absorbed the wretch's soul, adding it to the abominable mystic network that encompassed his domain. Whatever the magic web's purpose was, it was very close to being fulfilled.  
The Tournament's duels were not randomly determined. Shang Tsung deliberately matched the strongest opponents against the weakest, and reveled in the subsequent slaughter. People lost their lives like wheat falling from its chaff. A share of them died at my hands - or rather, left hand. Orchid had permanently crippled my right hand, despite the best attentions of the Lin Kuei's healers. I could still strike with its edge, or use it to bring forth the Power, but I couldn't make the fingers curl or grasp anything. The handicap was not obvious, and had only a minimal effect on my performance in the duels. I would have preferred not to participate at all. My purpose was to eliminate Shang Tsung, not play his games.  
I tried to approach the necromancer several times, but he was too heavily guarded. Shang Tsung never left his quarters without a detachment of his legions, Goro never strayed too far from his side, and something else was constantly hovering near him. The lurker possessed a Power that deliberately cloaked itself. Its exact location weaved faster than I could track. I'd never have noticed it if not for its dissimilarity matched against the foul haze of Shang Tsung's black sorcery.  
According to the Tournament's rules, a contestant who proved himself against mortals and defeated the reigning champion would earn the right to challenge the grand champion Shang Tsung. This would be my recourse of last resort, though it wasn't what I had in mind when I accepted the contract. Given Shang Tsung's Power, I'd much prefer to attack from behind, and murder him before he was aware of my presence.  
When I wasn't fighting, I observed the other matches carefully, learning all I could about the victors. Days passed, until less than a dozen survivors remained from thirteen boats filled with people. One of the survivors was not a human being at all.  
I knew he was supernatural the moment I lay eyes upon him. Shining forks of Power rippled across his garments, which were stark white except for a black sash tied at the hip and a similarly colored triangle pointing down his chest. In the shadow of his wide-brimmed, conical peasant's hat, his eyes glowed with pure energy. These signs only hinted at his vast aura of Power, many times greater than Shang Tsung's. Yet something cut him off from the overwhelming majority of his elemental strength, restricting him to the appearance of a mortal.  
Bound or no, he was lethal. He summoned electricity at will, and surrounded himself with winds so forceful they buffeted his opponent, a female kickboxer clad in pink and grey, against the courtyard's hard walls. The inhuman warrior shrieked wordless cries of triumph, holding his hands skyward and calling down slender, purple threads of scintillating energy. Shang Tsung laughed and gave the command to finish the match. The inhuman warrior stepped forward and sent wave after wave of crackling Power into his battered sacrifice. Electrical energy jerked her body about like a poorly controlled marionette. The Power came to a focus upon her head, shining brighter until the pressure was so great it burst open her skull, flinging pieces of bone and brain in a wide radius. Warm, steaming blood gushed from the headless corpse as it toppled over. Yet somehow, not a single smear of human remains stained the white-dressed one.  
One of Shang Tsung's guards approached me. The words "You're next, Lin Kuei," resonated quietly from within his black-and-white hood. He pronounced it "Lin Coo-ay," instead of "Lin Cue," so he must have had written instructions, for whatever that was worth.  
I tire of these mortal playthings, proclaimed the inhuman warrior, standing over his beheaded kill. How many insects must I crush before I am faced with a true challenge? Lifting his arms and eyes to the heavens, he roared, I AM RAIDEN, GOD OF THUNDER! Destruction and ruin mark my storms. The Earth itself weeps in the presence of my fury! I THIRST FOR THE GLORY OF BATTLE AGAINST OTHER GODS! WHERE IS AN OPPONENT WORTHY OF MY DEPREDATIONS?  
"Right behind you," Shang Tsung answered. "FIGHT!"  
What?  
Raiden had not completely turned around when the necromancer signaled the duel's beginning. Before he was aware of my silent rush toward him, I leaped and drove my flexed heel into the side of his chin. Whiplash snapped his head around. The chin-strap holding his wide-brimmed hat came loose; his headgear flew off his scalp, uncovering tightly pressed ebony hair. He tumbled backward, coming to rest on paved ground near the corpse of his last opponent. I crouched and drove my fist into his face. He convulsed and flailed from the impact, but before I could hit him again his body disappeared in a flash of white light. The breezy static of his Power tingled as he reappeared a dozen meters away, in a similar light flash. A stream of red dribbled from his upper lip.  
God or no, he was not invincible. He could bleed.  
Your - trickery - is in vain against a god! he declared, haltingly. Spreading his arms wide, he called forth storm winds. I immediately dropped and lay flat against the ground, letting the gale stream over me. Raiden shrieked an unintelligible battle cry and used the hurricane to propel himself, arms outstretched, speeding low to the ground on a collision course with me.  
I summoned the Power.

The hurricane blew too strongly for me to rise very high, but I was steady enough to cast the Ice directly in his path.

Raiden's own volume blocked some of the wind that might have otherwise scattered the Ice. He never had a chance to avoid it. As soon as it touched him, the gale ceased. The Ice held him suspended above the ground, frozen in form and time. I dashed behind and underneath him, crouched, and drove the whole of my strength into an upward punch with my left hand.

The impact undid the Ice's effects. Raiden's gale returned, and I was careful to drop low and avoid it, but the god had been too disoriented by my attack to control the hurricane. No longer riding the wind, he spun out of control in its grip until he slammed into the same wall he'd used on his last victim, and had intended to use on me. His storm winds faded once more.

Instead of climbing to his feet, the thunder god used his Power to dissolve and reform in a standing position. Sprinting to close the distance between us, I could tell he was hurting from the unsteady way in which he leaned against the wall.

No, he gasped, realizing that I would reach him before he could recall his storm winds. Stay back! He flung his arms forward.

Electricity streamed from his fingertips. I dipped low to avoid it, angling one leg forward and bracing it with my good left hand, while supporting the bulk of my weight on my back leg. Invoking the Power's resistance to friction, I skidded on the stone as if it were the surface of a frozen lake. Raiden's burst of electrical Power sailed harmlessly over my head. Calling the lightning had required so much effort that Raiden was defenseless as I slid directly into him, crushing his ankles. He collapsed yet again.

This time I would not let him teleport away. Seizing his ebony hair, I smashed his head into the wall before he could regain the necessary composure to use his Power. I repeated the action until his face was a ruined wreck. He screamed and flailed, but was too far gone to escape my grasp. At last his body went limp. Shock had set in, rendering him helpless.

I curse your name, he wheezed through split lips and broken teeth. You are dead. May the death eating away inside you consume your body and soul! You are dead, damn you! _Damn you!_ YOU ARE DE-

Calling the Power, I crossed my hands and inserted the index fingers into the corners of his mouth. Then I ripped outward, using the Ice to brace my injured right hand. The rubbery flesh of his cheeks tore under the pressure, all the way up to his ears. I took hold of them and ripped them off, retracting and uncrossing my hands. He would soon bleed to death.

"Excellent," Shang Tsung praised, clapping his long-fingered hands. Many of the guards also applauded. The other Tournament entrants stayed silent. Kano yawned. Johnny Cage was visibly shaken. Liu Kang looked at Raiden's broken body with pity. Sonya Blade was unreadable. The yellow-dressed specter lurked behind them all, staring at me with undiluted hatred.

_It is good the thunder god did not kill you,_ rumbled the specter's tortured voice in my mind. _That privilege is reserved for Scorpion alone!_

* * *

The rakshasa was the fastest of Saibot's creatures. I charged her as she charged me. She sprang in a final pounce, but I was already airborne, tucking myself into a ball to reduce air resistance. I flew over her head. As I landed, I heard the impact of metal on skin, a deep-throated wail, and a feline scream of furor. Looking back, I saw the metal devil flat on its face, while the rakshasa favored her left hind leg. She hissed furiously at the snake-demon. Her back arched and her fur stood on end.  
Saibot's creatures were unused to working as a team. They had all run into one another.

The snake demon fixed its beady eyes on me and ambled forward, more cautious than last time. Allowing the Power to shine on my hands, I bended on one knee and stretched out my arms as if to cast it. The snake-demon surged forward with a great leap, astoundingly fast and far despite its spindly hind legs. My feint had worked a little too well; though it had taken the bait, I didn't quite have enough time to properly counterattack. Distended serpentine jaws clamped on my arms. The snake-demon's heavy body thudded to earth, pulling mine with it. Burning drool splashed from its mouth, sizzling on my uniform and eating the skin off my arms. If I were to paralyze the beast, I would still be trapped underneath its weight.

_Don't you know what happens when acid and water mix?_

My brother's reprimand flashed in my mind as I channeled the Power, directing it not to freeze, but rather to create. Ice and cold water filled the snake-demon's gullet. It wailed a high-pitched screech, reared, and tried to spit out the Ice. Its mouth sizzled with bubbles from a powerful chemical reaction. Its belly distended wide. I clasped both hands into a hammer lock and slammed them into the snake-demon's head. The beast fell over, moaning and writhing.

From behind, I heard a series of explosions. I dropped flat and rolled to the side. Three bursts of blue-purple energy-claws whizzed over where I'd been. They'd come from the metal devil, which had regained its footing and pointed its glowing claws at me. Seeing that I'd dodged its attack, it slid forward, propelled by tiny red flames sprouting from its heels. It held the twin blades of one claw outstretched.

I flipped backwards in a series of handsprings, keeping ahead of it until I was next to the crevice through which the golden staircase lay. It continued its high-speed pursuit. Crouching, I waited until the metal demon and its glowing claws were less then two meters away before projecting another surge of the Power. This cumbersome metal devil was not as agile as its snake-demon counterpart; it raced directly into the Ice's depths and stopped, frozen in a timeless moment. I slipped behind it and spun around, whipping my leg in a circular motion that connected with the small of its back.

The metal devil returned to its position in time and space, save that my kick made it tip forward. It never had a chance to stop its headlong plunge into the crevice. Its high-pitched wail continued for some time after it fell, gradually growing fainter and deeper with distance.

I glared at the rakshasa. She was running her rough-textured tongue over her injured hind leg. The golden tigress looked up at me, lifted her lips in a snarl, and returned to her grooming. Over to one side, the snake-demon twitched and whined piteously.

"Not an obstacle," I told Saibot, shaking my head. "Not even close."

* * *

'Scorpion,' he called himself.

The fisherman I'd murdered had taken a use-name of his own. It suited him. I learned just how appropriate it was when I watched his duel against Kano.

This was one battle I dared not miss. Sooner or later, Scorpion's desire for vengeance would lead him into conflict with me, and when that time came I had to know what the specter's strengths and weaknesses were. There could be no better way to learn than to watch him fight.

Shang Tsung had slated the match to take place within his palace. All the Tournament's survivors so far were invited inside, to watch the spectacle. The necromancer's domain was covered with the colors of red and gold. Maroon carpeting with shining trim lay on the flat stone floor. Plush velvet covered the walls. Spaced evenly among the wall trimming were sheets of gold shaped into the Tournament's symbol, the fork-tongued dragon's head, against an abstract background design.

In between the dragons hung silken scrolls of traditional Chinese paintings. I recognized a smattering of the fine art: Shih-t'ao's _Eight Views of Huang-shan_, in which a mortal observed the resplendence of a waterfall formed more of the presence of space and imagination than from mere brush strokes. _Five-colored Parakeet_, the thoughtful, rigid study of a colorful bird perched upon flowering branches, a work accredited to the decadent emperor Hui-tsung. _Fish Swimming amid Falling Flowers_, which captured a pond school so gracefully they seemed ready to swim off the silk. Shang Tsung's gallery was the only source of beauty on his entire island.

There was little time to admire the hanging scrolls, however, because the armed guards escorting us through the palace prodded any who lagged behind with the sharp points of their spears. The guards outnumbered the handful of Tournament spectators five to one. They surrounded us as they led the way through the palace's red-and-gold decked arches, to Shang Tsung's throne room. A long red carpet stretched in front of us, forming a border of sorts between the spectators and Shang Tsung. The necromancer sat atop a slightly elevated throne, with plush velvet cushions and gleaming gold backing. I held back an expression of surprise when I saw that he was unattended-

No. He was not alone. Neither Goro nor his legions were at his side, yet the presence I'd sensed earlier was. Though I could neither see nor hear the presence, I was certain that it would block any attack upon Shang Tsung. Even so, I might have tried to kill the necromancer if not for the guards that encircled us all. They were constantly alert. At least eight of them had their eyes and spears fixed on me. If Shang Tsung knew that I'd come to slay him, then he probably instructed his lackeys to be excessively careful where I was concerned. I couldn't assassinate Shang Tsung under these circumstances.

Scorpion stepped onto the length of red carpet. His blank white, pupilless eyes swept across the crowd of onlookers, stopping momentarily on me. His loathing was a dripping vat of psychic bile. _This is only a diversion. We _will_ face one another in the arena. Soon. Observe, and learn what will happen to you!_

Kano followed. The outlaw's loose-fitting shirt and top, once white, had become grey with accrued grime, and touched with spatters of blood and vomit. Slung over his left shoulder was a belt with a string of ammunition casings. He carried himself at ease, thoroughly relaxed.

"Hey, you," Kano drawled to the specter. "I gotta question for you. What the fuck is wrong with your eyes? You got a pair of ping-pong balls stuck in your sockets or what?"

Scorpion did not answer.

"Playin' it strong and silent, huh? Think you're too good to talk to scum like me?" He grimaced and withdrew a heavy fighter's knife from within his tunic. "I'm gonna rip your heart out, and then I'm gonna carve those eyes outta your skull and use 'em for table tennis!"

If my eyes fascinate you so much, Black Dragon, then LOOK INTO THEM.

Kano's sneer faded. His muscles tensed. His knife hand thrust at empty air. He sucked in his breath, and twitched his head as if trying to pull it away. The outlaw shrank back as far as he could without moving his feet, which remained rooted to the ground. He covered his throat with his free hand, attempting to protect it from something only he could see.

You are a thief and a murderer, Black Dragon. It is time you paid for your crimes!

Scorpion blinked, deliberately ending his hold over the outlaw. Kano reeled for a moment, then recovered his defiance and spat, "Save the acid trip for someone who cares!" But the tone of his voice had changed from confident to disturbed.

"Prepare yourselves," Shang Tsung chuckled. Kano adjusted his hold on the hilt of his knife. Scorpion raised one arm perpendicular to his shoulders, bending his elbow and curling his fingers.

"FIGHT!"

Scorpion vanished the instant Shang Tsung signaled the duel's commencement. Kano's eyebrows went down in confusion. "What the f-"

Over here!

The specter allotted him just enough time to turn around before descending from the space above, driving his fist down into the outlaw's jaw. Kano staggered backward and fell to his knees, spitting up blood. Scorpion pressed his advantage, kicking the outlaw in the abdominal cavity before he could right himself. Kano snarled, baring his teeth. Springing up, he thrust the knife at Scorpion's throat. The specter saw it coming and sidestepped, at the same time shoving the heel of one hand into the side of Kano's head.

Scorpion may have been a simple fisherman once, but no longer. He'd learned how to fight during his stay in the infernal depths.

"You fuckin'-!" Kano swung his knife at Scorpion's waist. The specter deflected it with his empty hand, but didn't keep his palm exactly parallel to the flat of the blade. The knife's edge drew a long gash in his arm. He did not bleed so much as leak reddish wisps of Power with a hissing, crackling sound. Scorpion disappeared again.

"Oh, no you don't!" This time Kano was ready for the specter's reappearance. The outlaw withdrew a second, sleeker knife from his tunic and hurled it. It spun through the air, tumbling hilt over blade over hilt, and lodged in Scorpion's high upper chest, above where the lungs would be in a living man. The specter gave with the impact, letting it flow through him like a coursing river. Kano stepped forward, presenting only the side of his body. He used his free arm to shield his neck and heart.

Instead of going for the such targets, the specter dropped low and kicked out at the outlaw's ankle. Kano had made the critical mistake of placing the bulk of his weight on his front leg. He stumbled. Scorpion seized the opportunity to take hold of the outlaw's tunic and rock backwards, kicking up with one foot to propel Kano over his head. The outlaw landed with an audible _smack_. The thin carpet offered his head scant protection from the hard stone floor's brutality. His fighting knife fell out of his grasp.

"Dammit!" Kano moved to get up again, but the beating he'd taken had left him disoriented. His artificial eye blinked on and off. He pressed both hands against the concussion to his forehead.

Scorpion summoned his Power.

The air shimmered about the arm he'd held cocked. Forces gathered and compressed themselves into a triangular blade on a short shaft, surrounded by backward-pointing barbs. Scorpion cast his sting at the outlaw. A long tendril of mystic energy tethered the spear's shaft to his hand. The tether flapped, spanning several meters before its barbed blade impaled itself in Kano's abdominal cavity. Kano made a sound halfway between a choke and a shout.

C'MERE!

The specter pulled. His spear's barbs remained hooked in the outlaw's flesh. Scorpion used both physical and mystical strength to drag his prey close. Then he let the outlaw drop, placed one foot on his chest and ripped his spear out. Its quills scooped out chunks of flesh, intestines, and torn cloth. Kano's limbs jerked; the fighter's knife fell out of his hand. Scorpion's sting faded into nothingness, its task done.

Scorpion grasped the handle of the knife Kano had thrown in his chest and wrenched it out. Its edges were so sharp they left hardly any exit wound. The specter rammed the blade into the crippled outlaw's torso, consciously avoiding the heart. He did not want Kano to die just yet.

The outlaw's face broke into a sweat. Though shock should have paralyzed him, he still fought to sit up, mumbling "...you just made your worst enemy..." Somehow, he managed to brace himself on one elbow and fumble to draw another knife from his bloody tunic.

Scorpion removed his mask.

His hood fell back at the same time, baring an expanse of white bone. With the mask on, he'd possessed a semblance of humanity, save for his blank white eyes. Now the illusion had been stripped away. A skull rested on his shoulders, its empty eye sockets and teeth frozen in the humorless grin of the dead. The skull's mandible dropped. Inferno poured from the cavity within. Kano had time for only one, short scream before the conflagration boiled the flesh off his bones. It was over in an instant. All that remained of the outlaw were ashes, and a charred skeleton with a handful of knives lying upon its hollow ribcage.

It was a shame, really. I'd almost been looking forward to the chance to kill him.

Scorpion fixed his empty eye sockets on me. _Do you see, assassin?_ his sepulchral voice pounded in my mind. _This is what I will do to YOU! You will SUFFER and DIE for MURDERING ME!_

An illogical desire to reply possessed me, but what could I have said? Sorry I killed you? That wouldn't have the dubious value of being true. I'd lost the ability to repent a long time ago. I felt vexation for breaking my code of honor, but that is not the same thing-

-I shook my head, bewildered by the strange thoughts going through it. I'd been in this cursed place for so long that it had to be warping my mind. Lin Kuei do not have regrets. Lin Kuei do not apologize. Not if they are sane.

* * *

"AAAAAAAH!" The living shadow cried out as if he'd been the one to fall into the crevice. "You - you - do you have any IDEA what you've done?! There are NATIONS worth less than that Fulgore prototype!"

"If you want it back so badly, you are welcome to descend the stairs in search of it. Do watch out for the demoness at the bottom."

"I'm ruined," he whispered, ignoring me. "Ruined. I can't go back to Ultratech now - I'd have to work off this debt for the next five centuries...!"

I walked past Saibot. The bluff ahead was not truly sheer; it tilted at an angle, and there were plenty of potential handholds in its rough-hewn surface. The summit wasn't more than a quarter-mile above. Climbing it ought to be feasible.

"Exactly where do you think _you're_ going?" Saibot's voice abruptly shifted timbre from plaintive to spiteful.

"I've already demonstrated my skill against your minions. Must it come to this?" I sighed. "Though it is not my desire to harm you, rest assured that I will not hold back. You, however, are hindered by the need to capture me alive."

"Not anymore, fool. You've wrecked everything. All my toil! Twenty years of degradation, constantly at their beck and call, all WASTED because of YOU!"

"What are you babbling abou-"

"ULTRATECH WAS GOING TO CURE ME!" he screamed. Shandra flinched from the decibel level and swiveled her ears tight against her skull. "In exchange for a million pounds' worth of service! Capturing you would have been worth the last fifty thousand!" His seamless hands rounded into fists. "Look at me! Do you think I want to be like this? A miserable blob of spilled black paint, forever walking the twilight like one of the undead? _Look at me!_"

I looked at him. A spastic, unfamiliar clutching bubbled within my diaphragm. I could neither stave off nor understand the alien sensation, which rocked me with the need discharge short, staccato bursts of sound.

Laughter.

I never guessed I was still capable of this.

Saibot stiffened. "What's so bloody amusing?!"

"Heh. You are." The sensation subsided, and I didn't know whether I was relieved or sorry to let it go. "You've freed yourself from the clan, your Power and stealth give you the potential to become one of the greatest warriors in history, yet you complain about your appearance? If it is sympathy you seek, you are addressing the wrong person. Take your self-pity elsewhere."

"This is about revenge, not pity! It was a mistake to sign on with Ultratech when I had an unfinished vendetta against your clan; I realize that now." His outline wavered, blurring from the Power he called into his swirling black form. "It's time to fix that. First you. Then every other Lin Kuei in existence."

* * *

Shang Tsung's guards prevented me from getting a clear shot at the necromancer. His legions were far too numerous to confront directly.

I needed a distraction.

With that thought in mind, I studied Sonya Blade's underlings. Shang Tsung mocked Sonya by displaying her two comrades openly, in a hollowed set of interconnecting chasms. One of the sorcerer's many thrones sparkled a scarce distance away, for Shang Tsung liked to use this gulf as a Tournament battle arena. High above, the stone walls parted before open sky, but during the daytime a foul fog of mystical jet blocked out the sun. The resulting shadows made it easy for me to remain unnoticed.

One of the prisoners was Caucasian with sunny yellow hair. The other had tawny skin and graceful features reminiscent of the Americas' native tribes. A red headband tied in a double knot may have once kept his dark bangs away from his eyes, but it had become so sweat-soaked it slipped over his eyebrows. Heavy manacles on the soldiers' feet and hands suspended them from the dungeon's slate-grey stone walls. Moldering skeletons of former prisoners hung from nearby walls, keeping the captives company. Seven hooded guards watched the captives at all times; worse, this dungeon also doubled as Prince Goro's personal domain. Sonya would never be able to free her men on her own.

They were not holding up well. Their faces and arms were covered with bruises from many beatings. Underneath the wrinkles of their olive uniforms, which stank from their own filth, I suspected they had broken bones. They were starved and dehydrated. Shang Tsung gave them no food and only the barest minimum of water to keep them alive. The blond one was delirious; he mumbled meaningless things under his breath. His associate stared directly ahead, eyes unfocused, body slack. Their odds of surviving the next few days were bleak. If I were to use them in my scheme, I'd have to make my move soon.  
I faded back into the shadows from which I'd come.

* * *

**end section four of part three**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	13. Part 4 Section 1

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 4 of 4: Section 1** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 4 Section 1 ****

* * *

**The living shadow extended both hands, bringing them together and turning his palms sideways. Elongated, ropy tentacles of Power stretched from his fingertips. I dodged to the side, at the same time reaching within the bloodstained folds of my uniform. The black ropes curved, homing in on me. They wrapped around my waist and chest, lifting me off the ground and raising me high above Saibot's head.

"I'll rip you in half!" he shrieked. The tentacles pulled in opposite directions. My skin and muscles protested the strain. Both my arms were pinned tightly to my chest; I wouldn't be able to work them free in time.

"You are pathetic, Shade!" I yelled, attacking him with words for want of a better weapon.

"Don't call me that!" he cried. A note of hysteria was creeping into his voice. The pull of his tentacles lessened.

"It is what you are, Shade! You should be thankful for your name. Your Power has given you the one thing no other Lin Kuei can have: freedom! You could have used your Talent to live as you please, Shade, but instead you sell yourself into slavery and whine about your misery!"

"Stop calling me that! Shade does not exist; I am Noob Saibot!" The tentacles shuddered and stopped pulling completely.

"No, you are merely a Shade, a formless spot of darkness lying in the wake of tangible objects. You do not deserve a real name, because Shade is all you will ever be!"

"Stop it! STOP IT! _STOP IT!_" Frantic rage disrupted his concentration, and with it, his Power. His tentacles abruptly let go of me and melted away, as his limbs returned to normal. I flipped forward, landing on my feet.

_"STOP CALLING ME THAT NAME!"_ He barreled toward me like a berserker, both hands reaching for my throat. When he was almost upon me, I withdrew a glittering object from within my uniform and thrust it into his chest. It flared bright as noon upon my silent command.

"Wha-?" Saibot ceased moving. His arms drooped. Beads of blackness dripped from his outline, splashing and vanishing on the ground. The darkness forming his body was collapsing in on itself. He sank, gradually dissolving into an inky pool. "A Sunstone!? Where - did - youuuuu... eeeeeeerrAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

His last scream seemed to go on and on. I could still hear it resonating in my head well after the last trace of blackness vanished from the dry earth, leaving behind the dull, empty husk of what had once been a Sunstone. Its light and Saibot's darkness had canceled each other out.

Damn.

The rakshasa was sitting in front of me. Her lips parted, uncovering needle-sharp teeth. "Nice kitty," I soothed, mimicking Saibot's tone of voice.

Shandra's fur lost its golden brilliance. Flickers of Power surrounded her. Her limbs grew longer and slimmer; the joints realigned themselves. Her chest bulged out and her face flattened. Cropped dark hair sprouted from her head. In the instant it takes to draw breath, she changed form from beast to human woman. And not just any woman.

"'Nice kitty' my ass," Orchid sniffed, running her fingers through her bangs. "Is he dead?" she inquired, with an offhand gesture to where Saibot had been.

"Does it matter?"

"Probably not. He said he wouldn't return to Ultratech, and that's what's important. You've done me quite a favor, getting rid of him and the others." She smiled, if anything appearing even more voracious than she had in feline form. "I see your hand is all better. Hope those scratches I gave you earlier didn't hurt _too_ much."

"False sympathy does not become you, Orchid... or should I say, 'Shandra'?"

"Oh, I have many names. One for every day of the year."

"Tell me something."

"Why should I?"

"You said I've done you a favor. Why did Ultratech want Shang Tsung dead?"

"Isn't it obvious? Shang Tsung was horning in on Ultratech's racket - he wanted to take over the world. There was evidence he could do it, too; Ultratech has been watching his home territory through their satellites. When Shang Tsung's palace imploded, they assumed he was dead. Since the Lin Kuei never turned in a body, Ultratech never bothered paying the assassination fee. They were still interested in you, though."

"How did Saibot track me into Limbo?"

"Oh, that was my doing," she purred. "I planted a microdot relay transmitter on your mask. Don't you remember?"

"And you've used this device to monitor my whereabouts ever since I left Ultratech?"

"Well, not me personally..."

"So Ultratech now knows the secret location of the Lin Kuei's headquarters?"

"Oh, they've known for a while. They have their eye on your precious clan. There's talk of staging a takeover. Look, as much as I enjoy bantering classified information with blood-drenched psychopaths, I can't stay much longer. The technology that projects me here has its limits."

"How will you return to Earth?"

"This is the ticket." She tapped her right wrist; against her pale skin was a thin wire ringlet. It had been invisible underneath her tiger-form's golden fur. "Trust me, you do _not_ want to come with. This takes one into the impregnable heart of Ultratech's foremost research facility. Several dozen thugs with trank guns are waiting for your arrival. If you'd accepted Saibot's offer, you would have been subdued and strapped to an operating table."

"For what purpose?"

"The security cameras caught your little Winter Wonderland show. Your talents are very similar to - ah, it's a long story, but the quick version is half the Board of Directors thinks you're an alien, the other half thinks you're cybernetically enhanced, and all of them want to know how the heck you make that ice. They'd like to open you up and learn what makes you tick. Literally."

"I see."

"The only way out is the one you know," she continued, a little more softly. Her gloved hand pointed to the summit of the rocky cliffside ahead. "I couldn't help you even if I wanted to. Saibot was telling the truth about Limbo's final test; it is a trap where only that which you have loved can save you, and you've never loved me." Her feline smile stretched wider. "You wouldn't survive the experience."

"Will the snake-demon accompany you home?" I queried, ignoring her taunt.

"Riptor?" She glanced at the listless reptile. "No."

"Take the creature with you."

"Why?"

"I kill people, not animals, and leaving him in Limbo is worse than cutting his throat."

She snorted. "That 'animal' is Ultratech's genetically engineered weapon, combining reptilian DNA with human intelli-"

"Are you going to repay your debt or aren't you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "All right, psycho. If that's the way you want it. But this makes us even. Got it?"

"Yes."

Orchid crossed to the snake-demon in a few brisk strides and lay her right hand on his head, while adjusting the wire wristlet with the other. "Good luck, Zero. You'll need it."

"That's 'Sub-Zero.'"

"Zero." An instantaneous flash of whiteness engulfed them both. When it faded, they faded with it.

I reached behind my head and drew back the black hood of my uniform. The hair underneath was matted with sweat and sewer-blood. Attempting to shake it free merely caused it to separate into thick pieces. I pulled off my torn mask and whatever invisible device Orchid had planted on it. A stray breeze whisked the tattered scrap of fabric from my hand. The mask came to rest upon the Sunstone husk. Turning away from the site of Saibot's destruction, I took a deep breath of air that wasn't polluted with the warmth of my own exhalations.

* * *

My last match of the evening was against Liu Kang.

We faced one another upon one of the narrow stone bridges that spanned the chasm between the inner palace and the outlying area. Carved stone lions marked both ends of the bridge. The bridge was less than a meter wide, too narrow to safely sidestep another person. A stiff wind complicated the already worrisome task of keeping one's balance. Scattered clouds and shadows drifted across the rising full moon, sometimes muffling its light, sometimes letting it illuminate the horror below.

Sharpened iron spikes thick as women's arms poked up from the floor of the chasm underneath. More deadly thorns jutted out from the three concrete pillars that supported the bridge. Many of the Tournament's battles had already been fought on this overpass, and the remains of the losers filled the pit. Pierced torsos, severed heads and impaled limbs littered the gruesome expanse; congealing pools of blood resembled ink blots in the dispassionate moonlight. This was no ordinary arena. It was a vast iron maiden, and before the night ended either Liu Kang or I would join the others in her embrace.

Liu Kang did not look down. If not for the slight gleam of sweat on his bare torso, one couldn't have guessed he'd been continuously fighting for his life during the past several days. His lithe frame was wrapped with firm muscle, without being bulky. Facing forward, he put his hands together and bowed. His lips moved, as if in prayer. He was the essence of serenity: calm, measured, accepting of his fate.

The self-righteous hypocrite.

He thought he was better than the rest of us. Blessed by the gods, morally superior, holier-than-thou; whatever one calls it, it is one of the few traits I resent. He was as much a killer as the rest of us, by virtue of his participation in Shang Tsung's Tournament. He'd entered the bloodbath freely, and all the pretensions in the world could not wash clean its stains.  
A chuckle came from high above. Shang Tsung was watching us; his soulless white eyes glowed dimly in the surrounded blackness. The necromancer's mouth twisted into a tight-lipped smile. That nameless other presence was there as well.

"FIGHT!" Shang Tsung commanded.

Liu Kang cautiously advanced on me. We would have circled one another if the bridge had not confined us to a single line. I feinted an eye jab with my injured hand; when he deflected my fingers with the outer edge of his forearm, I responded with the real attack: a low punch to his solar plexus.

I didn't touch him.

He started turning well before my left arm could extend its full length, took hold of it, and pulled me over his head. The muscles in my arm tore from the strain. If Liu Kang had been thinking properly he would have pitched me over the side, but the arrogant young warrior threw me in line with the bridge. Attempting to flip and land in a crouch, I hit the ground on my knees instead. I tried to stand, struggling against the numb shock in my joints.

My left arm was hurting. It would not bend more than a little. Liu Kang approached quickly; he would be upon me before I could get up. Shifting tactics, I summoned the Power through my right arm and cast it at the young warrior.  
It never touched him.

He was somersaulting above it before it left my hands. Upon landing, he smashed his elbow into my face, then fluidly transformed the attack into a channel. His Power coursed through his arms and exploded from his hands, a living tooth of Fire that bit into my neck and chest.

I was fighting defensively now, dodging when I could, blocking when I had to, and buying time with a steady retreat. It wasn't just that Liu Kang was fast. Though his speed was remarkable, unquestionably transcending mine, I have held my own against fleet enemies before. It was his impeccable ability to read my movements and instantly react. One would think he was reading my mind, but that couldn't be. In the heat of combat, thought coincides with action; it would take far too long for even a master sorcerer to delve into his opponent's mind, extract his intentions, and formulate a defense. No, Liu Kang had to be reading my body. A twitch of an eye, a turn of the wrist, the shift of an ankle - I don't know what was giving my every action away, but whatever it was left me open to one swift, sure attack after another. No matter how I countered, I could not touch him. I accelerated my withdrawal into a rapid series of back handsprings. The gymnastics were somewhat awkward, on account of my strained left arm.

I never saw Liu Kang's leap, only felt the crushing surge of his Power as his foot drove into my stomach. His preternatural flying kick propelled him faster than a dead run. The stone wall set at the bridge's far side connected with my back and skull. Spots flew in front of my eyes. I collapsed and vomited up blood. Shang Tsung's laughter echoed in my ears.

Liu Kang could have finished me off then and there, but he hung back. What was keeping him? Disdain? False apprehension? His eyebrows were pressed down, and his brow was furrowed. Sadness colored his face.

He was looking at me with pity.

Suddenly, the crippling pain in my midsection no longer mattered. The dizziness, the way one of my legs shuddered when I put more than a little weight on it, nothing was more important than taking that damnable bastard down. Power surrounded me, though I couldn't remember calling it; its quintessence numbed pain and fooled torn muscles into working. Liu Kang took a step back. Goose bumps rose on his arm from contact with the cold surrounding me. I charged him full-on, intending to collide with him and force him off the bridge, even it meant falling off myself.

I couldn't touch him.

He sprang forward, taking hold of my shoulders and flipping over my head before I could make contact. Be it strength, speed, or Power, his momentum surpassed mine; as he landed, he used his grasp to throw me up and over his head. If he'd matched the angle at which I'd rushed him, I would have been cast off the overpass, but instead he shifted it so that I slammed face-first against hard stone. The impact broke two of my lower teeth and made the others cut deep into my lip. My vision blurred. My ears were ringing. The frost I'd gathered about myself deadened my ability to feel.

"FINISH HIM!" Shang Tsung commanded of Liu Kang, but the young warrior hesitated. I tried to push myself up with my hands, favoring my right arm. Too late, I realized there was nothing supporting it. I hadn't been aware of landing so close to the bridge's edge, or much of anything else for that matter. My balance was lost, and I was too stunned to regain it. Slipping over the side, I floundered for a handhold. The fingers of my right hand still wouldn't bend properly, and they skidded off the stone. I swung, clinging to the bridge with my left hand. It was gradually slipping. If I weren't in such battered condition, if my right hand weren't crippled, if my left arm had not been strained, I might have been able to pull myself back up. As it was, I'd lose my hold and fall in a matter of seconds.

The wind wailed. Liu Kang's silhouette blocked out the moonlight. A flick of his finger would send me to my doom, just as the sorcerer had bidden him to do. His hand darted out-

-and locked around my wrist.

"I've got you," he reassured, bracing himself against my weight. The smoothness of the stone bridge complicated his effort to drag me to safety.

I had been wrong about the young warrior. He wasn't arrogant. He was utterly deranged.

"Why are you doing this?" I rasped.

"There has been too much death already."

"I will _not_ owe my life to the likes of you!"

"Of course not. Life is too precious to be owed or traded like a sack of rice."

I rejected his flights of fantasy. Life is not precious; it is commonplace, and multiplies uncontrollably until war, famine and pestilence must keep it in check. Life is a worthless thing of straw, easily destroyed, and soon forgotten by the billions of new stalks sprouting over where the old stalks have fallen. It has no value. Only honor has value. The scraps and remnants of honor I had left could not be exchanged for rescue.

I am an assassin. I've never shown clemency to any of my victims. I never intended to have mercy on Liu Kang. To accept his charity for myself would be unbridled hypocrisy, absolute dishonor. Liu Kang would not have understood that, though. He was not a hunter. His heart was too kind, his soul too pure. The only way to make him perceive was to drive the edge of my right hand into the side of his throat.

At least, that is what I tried to do. He automatically stepped back, so that my strike _whished_ across empty air. The sudden change doubled the pressure on his right hand. My wrist, already slick with sweat, slipped from between his thumb and fingers. His halcyon expression became one of alarm. He made another grab for me, but for once he was not fast enough.  
Even with my last breath, I couldn't touch him.

Falling, I saw Liu Kang swing his legs over the bridge's side and begin to pursue me down, using the spikes that protruded from one of the concrete pillars as a ladder. An explosion of agony disrupted the image. Dragon teeth burst from my body cavities, their fluid-streaked tips pointing at the unforgiving moon. The last thing I felt was the backlash of an outraged scream, coming from everywhere and nowhere, directed at the clambering warrior above.

NO! How dare you? The Lin Kuei is MINE!

* * *

Have you ever stayed awake for days on end?

After the first sixteen, hours, you tire. Then your internal workings adapt, and you continue functioning at close to normal. How long you can keep this up depends on your constitution. Fatigue gradually returns to tear at you. You can push it away, but it always comes back, at shorter and shorter intervals, each time more insistent than before. Eventually you reach the stage where visions and unbidden ponderings drift like dreams through your mind.

Climbing the uneven incline, I couldn't stop thinking about Saibot and the Lin Kuei. I'd killed more people than I can remember, all for the good of the clan, and never cared. Why should Noob Saibot's apparent death bother me so much?

Near the summit, the slope made another upturn, becoming fully vertical. To my left I glimpsed a thin fissure cutting down its length. I edged across the slope's breadth, working my way to the fissure, and squeezed inside it. It was narrow enough so that I could brace myself against its sides and worm my way higher.

I couldn't blame Saibot for hating the Lin Kuei. He had good cause. Had I been in his place, I might have shared his rancor. Yet as a hunter and enemy of the clan, he was by definition no different from the countless others whose lives I'd dispassionately claimed. For all I knew, the rest of my victims could have had equally strong reasons to hate the Lin Kuei.

The clan is many things, but 'well-liked' is not one of them.

I certainly didn't like the Lin Kuei. They were a cartel of tyrants, using their strength to terrorize the weak. They'd wronged me when they forced me to become one of them, and when Pyre tricked me into breaking my own code. Thanks to me, my brother was one of them, and he was most likely no happier among their ranks than I was. Yet he couldn't leave. No one turned their back on the Lin Kuei and lived to tell of it, not anymore. I'd just destroyed the only surviving rogue, fulfilling my duty as a loyal Lin Kuei killer.

Bile churned in my mouth. My eyes narrowed, and my chest tightened. A newfound tension in my muscles made it difficult to keep my ascension steady. A strange sensation, unfamiliar for so long, gripped my being. At first I did not recognize it, until memories of a similar tightness in the eyes of so many others came streaming back to me.

Hatred.

I hated the Lin Kuei. I hated them for what they were, and hated myself for being one of them. It would please me if Ultratech ruined them. The desire for their destruction was so overwhelming that I had to halt my climb and hang in the space between rocky walls, gathering the self-control I'd need to continue. Was this how Scorpion felt?

A meter above my head, the cliff leveled off. Pushing against the crevice's walls, I edged higher still and grasped protrusions of the rocky surface beyond, using them as anchors while I hauled myself upon the summit. The terrain atop this bluff was not unlike the landscape below, except for the dry human and animal bones scattered about. The glaring sun stretched their shadows several times their original length. Some of the remains were in splinters. A rusty saber had been snapped in two, its halves lying next to a piecemeal array of bones...

Oh, no.

I knew this place. It was where I'd first arrived in Limbo. Every detail matched. Even the faint marks of where I'd struggled against Saibot's creatures were there.

A memory detached itself from the morass in my mind. I recalled my little brother, only eight years old, showing me a trick he'd learned from his beloved books.

_Look at this, big brother,_ he'd said, holding up a long white strip. _Just a plain length of paper, wouldn't you agree?_

_Very plain,_ I responded, humoring him.

_Watch._ He gave the strip a half-twist and joined its ends together. _Doesn't appear much different from an ordinary loop, does it?_

_Not particularly._

_But it is._ He picked up a brush and started drawing a line along the loop's outer side. _Look, my brush never leaves the surface!_ His line stretched around the loop's exterior and around the twist, continuing on the loop's interior until it reached its starting point. No part of the loop had been left untouched. _See? It looks like it has two sides, but it really has just one. You can traverse its entire surface and wind up exactly where you started from. They call this a 'Möbius strip.'_

I was nothing but the tip of a brush, blazing a trail across a gulf that I thought had two sides, but in truth had only one. All I'd done was travel in a great loop. Despair overwhelmed me. I sagged to my knees and slumped over, realizing that Saibot had earned the last laugh.

The crushing pressure of a choke hold jolted me out of my reverie. It had arisen out of nowhere, a stiff hand wrapping itself around my neck and lifting me off my feet.

At last, surged Scorpion's sepulchral voice, your soul belongs to _ME!_ His eerie laughter filled my ears. His grip on my throat left enough slack for me to gasp a sliver of breath. He wanted to strangle me slowly. I did not intend to let him, yet when I drove my elbow into where his head should have been, it encountered no resistance. My flailing kicks encountered nothing solid. It was like battling a vapor.

Go ahead, the specter jeered. Struggle. Try to fight back. It makes my victory all the sweeter. I've waited longer than you know for this! He tightened his choke hold, completely cutting off my air supply. I'd already summoned the Power to my aid, but I couldn't use it on something that could not be touched. Even his bony fingers around my throat were not tangible save by their crushing pressure on my windpipe.

Something was very wrong. If I weren't on the verge of blacking out, I might have been quicker to deduce what it was. **

* * *

** **end section one of part four**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	14. Part 4 Section 2

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 4 of 4: Section 2** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 4 Section 2 **

**

* * *

**I don't remember being dead.

There was no sense of the passage of time. One moment a bed of spikes pierced my heart liver, and kidneys; the next, I tried to sit upright on a stone bench and received a splitting headache for the effort. All I could see was a wash of red spots, and my sense of balance felt like I was at sea during a typhoon.

You are alive, rumbled Scorpion's echoing, hate-filled voice. Good. Your life is mine to take, and mine alone!

"Normally, I don't do requests, but this is a special case." Shang Tsung's sneer came from maddeningly nearby. "His abhorrence of you is absolutely delectable. It's too bad you don't share the same loathing for him."

This was the closest I'd been to the necromancer since arriving on his desecrated island. The pulsing vibrations of his unclean aura were directly in front of me. Ignoring the protests of my spinning head, I rolled off the bench and lurched to my feet. My legs promptly caved in beneath me. I collapsed in a disorganized heap.

"You and Scorpion will do battle in three hours, after Goro crushes that gadfly monk who killed you," Shang Tsung continued, a little too gleefully. "That should give you more than enough time to recover from the stress of being resurrected." He left, his fine silk robes making a faint whisper as they glided across the floor. I did not hear any footsteps.

Moving carefully, I latched ahold of the stone bench with both hands, and pulled myself into a sitting position. I realized with a start that my right hand was fully healed, as functional as it had been before Orchid nearly slashed it in half. The teeth I'd lost were back in my mouth, undamaged. Even my uniform was restored; there remained no trace of the holes that had been torn in it, or the blood that had stained it. My vision was clearing by degrees, enough to perceive Scorpion's empty eyes glaring down at me.

When next we meet, you will DIE! A light, breezy aspect of his Power engulfed him. His physical form disappeared, yet the smothering press of his malevolence remained, disrupting my attempt to concentrate on a plan of action.

* * *

I recklessly turned the Power on myself, coating my neck with the slickest sheen of Ice I could create. At the same time I swung both legs forward, using my own momentum combined with the frictionless Ice to slide free of my captor's grip. He had been holding me with only one hand, after all. Limbo's dry, desert air never tasted so sweet.

The apparition next to me cast his unearthly tethered spear. Rolling to the side, I avoided it by centimeters. It buried itself in Limbo's sand, subsequently dissolving into the Power that composed it and being reabsorbed into the specter's aura. My respiration came in staggered gasps, and red spots darted in front of my eyes. I needed time to recover, and I'd just realized how to buy it.

"Your disguise is useless, Shang Tsung!" I shouted, between intervals of panting. "I know who you are!"

What!? The specter's stark outline became unfocused. His deep ochre-and-black mockery of a Lin Kuei uniform changed texture and composition; its colors rearranged themselves into a different outfit, with tight black pants, leather skullcap, and divided canary-yellow vest. The humanoid within the clothes became more compact and wiry. His mask dissolved, showing a long face with a dark, thin mustache and pointed goatee beard. Only the eyes remained the same, two blank windows into an empty white void. He was most definitely Shang Tsung, though younger, more vigorous, and a decimeter shorter than I remembered. He must have elevated his height through levitation before, letting his overly long robes hide his true stature.

Raiden had warned me that the necromancer might track me down, yet I had not dared to hope that finding him would be so easy. Killing him, however, would not be so simple. His filthy aura thrummed with freely coursing Power. Before, he'd only been able to harness a small portion of it for his own needs, yet now the barriers had been lifted. His raw potency far exceeded anything human, approaching the status of a greater devil. The question was, if he had so much Power at his disposal, then why wasn't he using it? Assuming Scorpion's guise was a card trick compared to what he was capable of doing.

"How did you know?" Shang Tsung shrilled. "How could you know!? I've perfected the art of shape-shifting! There could be no distinctions!"

"You can match Scorpion's appearance and voice, even his Power, but you don't have his honor. His code required him to face his enemies in battle before killing them. And neither he nor your shape-shifting pet ever wanted my soul." To stall a little longer, I asked "Why did you go to the trouble of seeking me out, necromancer?"

"Don't play innocent. I know you had a hand in my 'accident.' Reptile told me all about it, strapped to my rack. The Kahn won't let me KILL Liu Kang, so for the time being I'll have to console myself with your tarnished soul!" He extended his arms, pointing one hand to the heavens and the other hand to the earth. A tsunami of Fire surrounding the screaming skulls of tortured souls poured forth. The time for talk was ended.

* * *

Sonya Blade gazed through a curtained window of Shang Tsung's palace. Her hair, brown with streaks of flaxen, spilled on her shoulders and drooped over one of her sapphire eyes. Her bangs had long since worked loose of the raven headband that once held them back. She leaned upon the window ledge, her folded arms resting on the sill. Rays from the dying sun reflected off the metal bracelets around her wrists, and combined with shadows from the curtains to silhouette the curves of her trim figure. Neither expression nor emotion affected her refined features. I hadn't noticed before, but she was not without her own manner of beauty.

"Take one step closer and you're dogmeat," she warned, without removing her eyes from the sunset. Her voice was hoarse, deadened from endless hours of battle cries.

"I mean you no harm."

"I'll be the judge of that." Brushing her bangs away from her forehead, she turned and glanced at me. "I saw you kill Raiden. You're an assassin, the one they call Sub-Zero."

"That is correct."

"What do you want?"

"To help you free your subordinates."

"Why?"

"Do not concern yourself with that."

Her thin eyebrows descended, two taut, critical lines overlooking her stern face. "Shang Tsung keeps Sparky and Catsclaw chained in Goro's lair. I don't know where Shang Tsung stores the keys to their shackles. Goro has promised to rip them limb from limb at the slightest provocation. Seven armed guards watch them at all times. That bastard magician has promised me that he'll 'free' them if I defeat him in one-on-one combat. Every instinct I've got says that he's lying. The only thing he intends to 'free' them from is their lives. You use the same words he did, assassin. How do I know you're not one of his servants?" I've killed people over lesser insults, but this was neither the time nor the place.

A flicker of supernatural essence seized my attention. I'd been certain that no one was watching us a moment ago, yet traces of a third presence left slight eddies in the open air. There was a faint whiff of an odor like concentrated vinegar.

"I asked you a question, mister," Sonya barked; I held up a hand to stay her. Scanning the area, I detected the slightest irregularity against the haze of blood-sacrifice Power lingering in Shang Tsung's unholy castle. I wouldn't have been able to distinguish it from the background ambience if I hadn't encountered it before, reflected upon the necromancer's own veil of death and destruction.

"Someone else is here," I cautioned.

The atmosphere in front of us rippled like concentric circles spreading from where a stone is dropped into water. A living creature stepped out of the distortion. It, too, was swathed in a Lin Kuei ceremonial uniform; the color highlights were brilliant emerald, similar to but a shade brighter than Toxin's verdant garments. That would imply a Power over Acid, if he were a Lin Kuei. He was not. He wasn't even human. Though his arms and hands seemed ordinary enough, his face was that of an iguana, with green scales and a protruding snout. His eyes were crimson, with vertically slit pupils. In addition to scaled upper and lower eyelids, he had a third inner eyelid, a sheet of membranous white. It flicked sideways, from his eyes' inner corners to the outer, and back again. The vinegar scent of his breath was stronger, now that he was no longer using his Power to conceal his presence.

"Reptile comesss in peassce," hissed the creature.

"If you want to see one of Shang Tsung's servants, look no further," I observed.

"It isss true," Reptile assented. "I have taken an oath to honor, protect, and obey the sssorsscerer unto death. That wasss before I learned of hisss plansss to enssslave the Rasssce."

"The Race? You mean, lizards like you?" Reptile's immediate response to my query was the mix of a viper's hiss and a housecat's angry croon. With conscious effort, he controlled his hissing and changed it into words.

"SsssSSS! 'Sssauriansss.' Thy tongue isss a meter too ssshort to call usss what we call ourssselvesss, but if thou mussst label mine brethren with thy petty classsificassshtionsss, call usss 'sssauriansss.' 'Lissszardsss' are unintelligent, sssplay-legged beassstsss, more dissstant from usss than thou art from apesss!"

"You were saying something about an oath?" Sonya prompted.

"Yesss. Dessspite mine regretsss, a vow sssworn cannot be unsssworn. Ssstill, it would pleassse me to know that one of the sssorsscerer'sss ambissshtionsss, no matter how inconsssequenssshtial, hasss been foiled. I offer thee mine aid."

Sonya nodded. Incredulous, I turned to her and said, "You cannot be serious. The thing has admitted that it is Shang Tsung's vassal!"

"And you've admitted to being a hired killer. At least Reptile's told me why he wants to help, which is more than I can say about you," she rebuffed. Her naiveté was baffling. Were a few smooth words and a scaly hide all it took to win her trust?

"You have convinced me of nothing," I cautioned Reptile. "If you wish to demonstrate your good intentions, you may start by telling me what in all damnation Shang Tsung is amassing his cesspool of blood-sacrifice Power for."

"Dossst thou not know? Thou wert presssent when I exsssplained the sssorssscerer'sss massschinassshtionsss to Liu Kang. Of courssse, thou wert rather dead at the time," Reptile remarked, baring overlapping rows of sharp, interlocking canines in a hideous parody of a human smile. The smallest of his teeth were as long as the last two joints of my index finger. His grimace felt more like a threat than an expression of mirth.

"Ssshang Tsssung plotsss to open a ssstable gateway between our world and the Outworld, a nether realm ruled by the dessspot Ssshao Kahn. Onsssce that isss accomplissshed, the Kahn'sss legionsss will conquer the Earth, ssstripping it dry of life. Creating the gateway requiresss tremendousss power, and many enssslaved sssoulsss of the highessst caliber. The sssorssscerer hasss usssed thisss Tournament to amasss the nessscesssary life forsssce for five hundred yearsss. Ssshould Goro dessstroy Liu Kang, Ssshang Tsssung will have all he needsss to complete hisss vortexsss. Thou had bessst pray that Liu Kang doesss not fail."

"I never pray." Liu Kang was a superb fighter, but Goro's sheer strength was unearthly. Rather than pin reckless hopes on the young Samaritan, I had a better plan: kill Shang Tsung, and his plots would die with him. He wasn't just the epicenter of the necromantic web; he was its keystone. Once he was gone, the nightmare tied into him would fragment and fold in on itself. I was not about to speak that thought aloud to Shang Tsung's sworn protector, though.

"Be warned, asssasssin. I sssaw thee obssserving the captivesss. At timesss thou hassst been aware of mine presssensssce; more often, thou hassst not." I returned his glass-eyed stare until he blinked, his third eyelids covering and uncovering his feline orbs.

"Enough fairy tales," Sonya cut in, curtly. "How do the two of you intend to help my men?"

Fixing his cat's eyes on her, Reptile answered, "There are pathsss mine brethren can take to where thy men are held prisssoner. The Rasssce can essscort them to sssafety, and tend their injuriesss until they are ready to return to thy ssscivilissszassshtion. The bessst opportunity to ssstrike will be one hour from now, while Goro isss preoccupied with hisss duel againssst Liu Kang. I ssshall sssupply sssome asssissstansssce in sssubduing the guardsss." It took him a full eight seconds to hiss his way through the last sentence.

"What about the chains?"

"The keysss to their locksss were dessstroyed long ago. Ssshang Tsssung opensss and closssesss the latchesss by meansss of hisss sssorssscery. I do not know the pressscissse ssspell. Mine brethren mussst ussse their venom to russst through the anchorsss."

"How long would that take?"

"Posssibly half an hour."

"Not good enough."

"Or they could amputate the captivesss' handsss and feet."

"_Definitely_ not good enough!"

"Leave the chains to me," I interjected. "I will unlock them."

Sonya's sapphire eyes narrowed. "So you say."

"I give you my word."

"You still haven't said why you want to help."

"Nor shall I."

* * *

Shang Tsung's fiery wave carved a triangular swath of destruction, from a point at the tip of his hands that rapidly widened the further it progressed. It flooded the earth from ground level to three times my height, and when it reached me it stretched for meters to my right and left. I withdrew in a series of back handsprings. My retreat was not fast enough.

The jaws of Hell returned to claim their own.

I drowned in a sea of horror. My entire being was awash with blazing fiery torment. The afflicted outcries of a hundred thousand slain victims howled in my mind. Automatically, I called to the Power, but the Ice vaporized instantly amid the sorcerer's overwhelming holocaust. Old blister-scars from the day of my Test erupted in a shower of boiling blood. I saw the flesh melt from my arms before my eyes melted as well. The agony did not lessen. Its endless searing kiss continued long after I had skin to feel it...

"That is for conspiring behind my back!" Shang Tsung's heel slammed into my stomach and snapped me out of the nightmare. His ocean of hellfire had been a psychic attack. Though not physically burned, I was stunned, shaking, and spent from the Power I'd wasted. My arms and face tingled with the memory of torture past. Shang Tsung stamped again, fracturing the end of my sternum and adding a little more present suffering into the mix. "And _that_ is for abetting my victims' escape!"

The bastard was toying with me.

My newfound ability to hate flared, shutting down the pain, blotting out apprehension, overriding all desires save the need to kill this odious filth that walked like man. I wrapped one arm around his thigh and drove the edge of my hand into his knee. Instead the expected _crack_ of his breaking joint, I heard the _swish_ of air as my strike passed harmlessly through him. Confused, I sent a burst of the Power into his body; the Ice sailed through his form and into the gulf beyond. I'd thought that his prior intangibility was a Power he'd borrowed from Scorpion. I was wrong.

"Surprise!" Shang Tsung shouted, his face contorted in a repellent expression of glee. "It _doesn't_ work!" His elbow collided with the side of my neck; whiplash turned my head around, and suddenly Limbo's dusty soil itched in my eyes. The dull throbbing in my temple told me that I'd hit the ground hard. "You can't harm this astral projection of me, but I can enjoy my revenge on you!" He threw his head back and laughed; the wind's hot breath resounded with echoes of his mania. While he was distracted, I rolled away. Pushing myself into a standing position, I called the Power once more; yet what could I do with it? It had no effect on him.

"Now, where was I?" mused the mad sorcerer. I threw the Power to the ground in front of him, creating a barricade of Ice in an attempt to buy more time. "Ah, yes. Absolute INCINERATION!" His gushing sea of hellfire immolated the barrier and me. Agony returned, worse than before. Much worse. I weakly resisted the impulse to squander more Ice fighting against his psychic assault.

There are ways for a warrior to deny pain, and ways to struggle against it. In a lifetime filled with brutality I have learned that it is better to let the hurt be. Acknowledge its presence, heed its warning of imminent bodily damage, but do not let it interfere with what must be done. Masters of this discipline can endure being slowly skinned alive without a change in their composure. I am merely a student.

"Are you going to stay down this time?" Shang Tsung's sneer broke through the shock that had taken hold of my mind. Crawling to my knees was an ordeal. Standing up was a challenge. "No? Oh, this _is_ going to be fun!"

I was in no shape to withstand a third hellfire blast. The sensory overload would render me helpless, and once I finished writhing for Shang Tsung's amusement he would claim my soul. He was rubbing his hands a mere two meters away, yet there was nothing I could do. The Power couldn't touch him.

But he could touch me!

I had an idea that was one-tenth inspiration, nine-tenths desperation. Once more, I called the Power, yet instead of projecting it I deliberately kept its chilling essence locked within. My plan depended on applying it in a uniquely subtle way. That, and staying alive for the next few moments.

"Still clinging to your precious ice?" Shang Tsung snubbed. "When are you going to learn how useless your pitiful conjurings are compared to mine?" He stretched forth his arms. As he threw wide the floodgates of his hellfire, I vaulted up and over the conflagration, landing behind him.

"Where do you think you're going!?" He turned and shot a quicker jet of hellfire from one hand. I dodged around him, further than he could twist. At a distance, I was defenseless against his widening blasts, but at close range they were narrow enough for me to avoid.

"Stop moving around so much!" He turned his spin into a whirling kick; I easily eluded his short legs. All the time I was concentrating on gathering more Power, making it course through my veins and underneath my skin.

Shang Tsung's pupilless eyes flashed. "Stand still!" he demanded, swinging at my head. I ducked. Though the sorcerer had a young man's body, he was not fully re-accustomed to it. His physical attacks were a hair too slow and clumsy, and the set of his shoulders gave away his intent before he acted. For too many years, he'd depended on Goro to fight his battles for him.

_"Stop squirming!"_ I flipped to the side, executing a cartwheel without touching my hands to earth. A hellfire wave came closer than the rest, but not quite close enough. The screams of tortured souls drowned out Shang Tsung's curses. He lunged forward with a punch; when I sidestepped, his face contorted and he shouted something in an obscure Cantonese dialect. I recognized the word for "offal."

Outside, I'd goaded the sorcerer into a frustrated rage. Inside, I'd built up as concentrated a field of the Power as possible, given the circumstances. There could not be a better time.

I stumbled, skidding on one knee.

"Finally!" cackled the sorcerer, wrapping his clawlike fingers around my neck. "Your soul is MI-"

An unexpected force arrested his voice. The Power coursing through me had lowered the temperature of my skin well below freezing, past the threshold where common flesh withers and dies. Once contact was made, the essence of Ice sucked the warmth from his limb and yearned for more, absorbing his tepid vitality through his arm. Shang Tsung wrenched his hand away. His teeth chattered. He staggered. His entire body shivered uncontrollably. If not for his vast supply of Power, he would have been completely paralyzed. A shuddering gasp escaped his lips. "Ss-sso c-c-c-cold..."

Holding the Power within for so long had strained me above and beyond the stress of battle. Now that it had served its purpose, I let it return to whence it came, simultaneously making a tiger claw strike to the sorcerer's larynx. This time, my hand contacted soft skin instead of empty air. Shang Tsung's jugular crumpled underneath the impact, as did his trachea. I'd crushed his throat in a single blow.

That should have killed him.

Somehow, he continued to breathe despite the wreck I'd made of his windpipe. When I tried again, he awkwardly brought his crossed wrists against mine, partially deflecting the attempt with an X-block. Though I'd broken the spell that had made him intangible, the bountiful wellspring of Power within him was repairing the damage almost as quickly as I'd inflicted it. What would it take to kill him? Would he die if I tore off his head?

"I know what you're thinking!" he shrieked hysterically, unleashing another hellfire wave. I sprinted at a right angle to its flow, narrowly evading its embrace. The necromancer started to back away. I maintained the distance between us with caution.

Shang Tsung snarled, "You're not going to lay another finger on me. I watched you in the Tournament, and I remember who defeated you!" His Power shimmered. His clothing changed pattern; his skin darkened to a more burnished hue; and he grew. When the warping effects of his sorcery faded, Liu Kang's likeness stood before me.

"You're MINE now!" he crowed in the young warrior's high-pitched voice.

* * *

**end section two of part four**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	15. Part 4 Section 3

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 4 of 4: Section 3** **written by Victar, e-mail  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 4 Section 3 ****

* * *

**Reptile cloaked us with his Power of Invisibility. Sonya and I could still see one another, but no one could perceive us through the creature's projected aura. Though Reptile himself was unseen to my eyes, telltale scraps of mystic runoff betrayed his approximate location. He was behind me. The three of us silently crept through Goro's dank lair. Liu Kang's fight with the four-armed Prince of Shokan would take place any second now, in a shadowy cavern a scant distance away. Echoes of the young warrior's taunts drifted to our ears.

"The Shokan were once a proud and noble race. Now look at you - fallen to the level of a hired thug!"  
"rrrrrrRRRRR," Goro growled.

Sparky and Catsclaw hung slack on their chains, unconscious. Seven hooded guards surrounded them in a half-circle. Reptile, Sonya, and I arranged ourselves as planned. Sonya would handle the two guards furthest to the right, Reptile the two at farthest left, while the middle three were mine. I'd volunteered to deal with them, explaining that I, too, am capable of affecting more than one target with my Power - provided that I have enough time in advance to gather the required amount. To prepare for three targets, I'd spent the previous ten minutes in meditation, and I had to discharge the Ice soon or it would fade from my grasp.

"You are a Prince, Goro! The Shokan's nobility used to be champions and defenders. When did you sell your souls to a monster less human than you are?"

"I MADE YOUR ANCESTOR SUFFER BEFORE HE DIED. YOU WILL ENDURE THE SAME FATE!" All three guards in front of me flinched from Goro's vehemence.

"Careful, Goro." Shang Tsung's command came from above as well as afar. He had to be seated atop his throne on the lip of this honeycombed ravine. "Do not toy with this one. Kill him without delay."

"GORO NEEDS NO ADVICE FROM A WEAKLING LIKE YOU!"

Shang Tsung sucked in his breath. Though I could not see him, I could almost feel ripples of his outrage. "Do as you will, then," he spat, barely in control of his temper. "FIGHT!"

The sorcerer's command was our agreed-upon signal to attack.

I channeled a wide surge of the Power into the three guards before me. Sonya seized the heads of her two guards and smashed them together. A hissing sound came from my left as I stepped forward and crushed the throats of two of my guards. They collapsed, sputtering, trying vainly to breathe. The third had begun to shake off the Ice's effects by the time I got to him, but he still couldn't see me. He attempted to call out and raise his spear. Taking hold of the weapon's shaft, I rammed its far end into its wielder's diaphragm. His cry became the whistle of deflating lungs. I curled one arm tight around his throat. He struggled for a short while, then fell slack. I let his limp body fall face down on the ground.

Blood gushed from the headless neck stump of one of Reptile's guards. The other had one hand clasped over his eyes. Caustic green spittle dripped from between his fingers. His remaining hand made a thrust with the spear it held, wide of where Reptile stood. For an instant the saurian's scaled face became visible, hovering within the nebulous aura of leaking Power trails. Reptile's tongue shot out. It stretched like a frog's, spanning the meter between his mouth and the guard's face. The pink member wrapped itself around hooded sentry's head, muzzling his startled cry. The vinegar stink of Reptile's caustic saliva mixed with the odors of his victim's fear and sizzling skin. Knifelike fragments of bone poked out of Reptile's tongue. They drove deep into the guard's neck, slicing through skin, muscle, and vertebrae. The sentry's muffled shriek abruptly ceased as the tongue retracted, pulling the severed head off its torso. Reptile's jaws unhinged, distending impossibly wide, and the head wrapped in tongue vanished down them. A bulge briefly appeared in his neck, but soon vanished. Noticing me, he returned my stare and rubbed his stomach with one hand, mimicking the human gesture for satiation.

By this time, both of Sonya's guards were also stretched flat on the cold stone. Reptile's gaze flicked briefly upon them and the bodies of the sentries I'd brought down, yet he made no move to eat them. Perhaps he preferred to dine upon live prey.  
I glanced at Sonya. Streaks of blood streamed from a deep gash in her left shoulder. She clasped her right hand tightly around the wound.

"What the hell are you staring at?" she whispered, virulently. "Unlock Sparky's and Catsclaw's chains, _now!_" In the distance, Goro roared while Liu Kang shrieked a wailing battle cry. There was the _thump_ sound of something large and heavy colliding with a solid surface.

I set to work on the locks around the blond captive's ankles, sending the Power inside and molding it into the proper shape to trigger the release mechanism. It took less than twenty seconds for me to undo all the iron shackles, except for one stubborn lock on the swarthy captive's wrist. That one I had to break apart by allowing the Power's essence to freeze and expand within the iron band's joints. The tread of padded feet surrounded me while I worked. Reptile's kin had arrived on schedule.

A soft groan escaped the swarthy captive's lips as he fell onto the supportive hands of Reptile's associates. Two of them draped his arms around themselves and propped him up. His eyes fluttered open.

"Lieutenant...?" he murmured.

"It's all right, Catsclaw," she softly responded. "They're friends. We're going to get both of you out of this."

"I had the strangest dream. The old man made you fight Kano to the death in front of us, thirty-six times."

"Thirty-eight."

"Oh. Must've lost count after the twentieth time you killed him."

I turned my back on them all and approached the guard I'd choked with a stranglehold. He did not appear to be breathing. Rolling him on his back, I removed his hood. His face was a hideous human parody with sickly yellow skin, slitted eyes of crimson, and the jaws of a shark. His mouth was frozen in an abnormally wide grin, neatly splitting his face nearly from cheekbone to cheekbone, and filled with compressed rows of metallic grey canines. Shang Tsung's servants were monsters not of this world.

This particular monster's chest rose and fell in slight increments. Good. I hadn't misgauged the duration of my hold after all. Wrapping my arm around his neck once more, I sprinkled a whisper of the Power of his face. When a layer of fine frost coated his features, he started to revive.

"...rrrgh... gackh... huh?"

"Your comrades are dead. Soon you will join them," I appraised, objectively.

"YAAAAAAH! INTRUDERS! ALERT! MASTER, HELP ME!" he screamed, writhing. Commotion stirred on the ridges above us, in the wake of his cries. At least another dozen guards streamed toward us, drawn by his shrieks. I ended his noise with a deft snap of his neck.

A buzzing cavalcade of pink energy whistled and flashed over my head. It had come from the crackling metal bracelet around Sonya's wrist. She reeled a step back; her aim had been off because her one good arm wasn't enough to properly brace herself against the blast's recoil. Her face was twisted in an expression of outrage. I reached inside my vest.

"You planned to betray us all along!" she accused.

Of course. I needed to distract Shang Tsung's guards. This jailbreak was the perfect diversion. Though I'd promised to release her underlings from their chains, I'd made no express or implied guarantees about what might happen afterward. But with Shang Tsung's legion bearing down on us, I had neither the time nor the inclination to explain matters.

The approaching guards were only meters away when, taking a deep breath, I withdrew a stoppered glass vial and smashed it on the stone between them and Sonya. Sounds of choking and vomiting dogged my heels as I sprinted under cover of the thick, billowing vapor, which rapidly spread to engulf the entire chamber. Perhaps Sonya and her underlings would escape in the confusion; perhaps they would not. I did not care either way. They had chosen their fate when they dared to pursue Shang Tsung's vessel, just as the slain ranks of the Tournament's competitors had chosen theirs.

* * *

Liu-Tsung charged me, smoothly transforming his run into a leaping kick like an arrow let fly. He moved with the speed, precision, and grace of the young warrior, but the true Liu Kang would not have been so reckless. Liu-Tsung had initiated the attack from so far away that I had more than sufficient time to see him coming and react. I waited until he'd left the ground before I threw the full brunt of my Power at him, to ensure that he would not dodge it with his lightning speed. His flight came to a halt in midair, suspended in space and time by the Ice.

It would not hold him for long. Running toward Liu-Tsung, I vaulted above his motionless body, grasping hold of his shoulders and using them as a brace to support me while I flipped. When I landed, I used my spiraling momentum to heave him over my head and smash him face down into the dusty earth. He was moving to cushion the impact even as I completed the throw, bringing in his arms and legs to absorb the shock. Liu-Tsung's crossed forearms protected his head from a blow that could have cracked his skull. He instantly sprang back up, a little dazed but far from beaten.

Using my hands and one knee as a stable tripod, I crouched and made a ducking kick to his ankles. He left the ground a fraction of a second before I finished the attack, leaping up impossibly high and spreading his legs wide. I angled a second kick upward, nailing him in the groin.

His back was to the canyon's edge as he fell, shrieking a pained wail that lowered pitch from Liu Kang's piercing howl to Shang Tsung's deeper squawk. His body melted back into its shorter, yellow-dressed shape. The necromancer had thought to gain the upper hand by borrowing Liu Kang's body, but the young warrior hadn't defeated me simply with his speed and Power. He'd bested me with his intelligence, especially his uncanny ability to read my moves and counter. Shang Tsung's mind just wasn't up to the challenge, particularly after five hundred years of inactivity.

"Get AWAY!" he cried, his voice cracking. He threw a swath of hellfire, which I avoided by stepping in line with him, along the canyon's edge. I took hold of his right arm, the one closest to me, and twisted it behind his back, forcing the bent forearm up until his shoulder dislocated with a soft sound. His free arm flailed; Power dripped from his fingertips as he attempted to unleash more hellfire. I forced his free arm behind his back while his dislocated arm hung limply. The dislodged limb was already healing, but it couldn't function unless he set it back in its socket, and I would not give him the opportunity.

My free hand grasped the small knot of dark hair at the base of his scalp and wrenched his head back. "No, NOOOO! Let me go! Let me GO!" he raved. One of his black shoes stomped blindly, landing by sheer luck on my outer foot. I didn't slacken my hold, but the attack destabilized me, and Shang Tsung's accursed neck was so tough it resisted the pressure I put on it well after a mortal neck would have snapped. Still, it was gradually giving way-

_"Let me GOOOOOOO!"_ he screeched, throwing his weight over the lip of the cliff. That was the one maneuver I had not foreseen. Gravel skidded underneath my smarting outer foot. I was falling over the side with the necromancer. Releasing him, I twisted and gained a hold on the cliff's edge with both hands. My body smacked against the ravine's side. I nearly let go when a jutting portion of rock poked at my fractured sternum. The last echoes of Shang Tsung's descending wail still haunted the air after I'd pulled myself back on the canyon's lip. I peered over the edge, seeing swirling clouds and nothing more.

Damn!

If I could survive a plunge into this gulf, so could he. It was a long way down, long enough to give him the time he needed to focus his Power and levitate to a safe landing. Now that there was a break in the excitement, I felt very tired. Days of sleepless weariness weighed heavily upon my shoulders.

Hot wind suddenly gushed from the ravine's depths, forcing me to take several steps back and shield my eyes from its press. Earthshaking screams accompanied it. A series of ululating howls that could come from no natural beast rent the air. Something was coming. Something big.

A writhing atrocity rose from the void. Its huge mass blotted out the burning sun, replacing its orange beams with deep crimson light pulsing from the cracks in its segmented body. For a face, it had a single plating of hard bone with sideways-curving pincers framing the mouth; neither skin nor scales covered the exoskeleton. Its multifaceted compound eyes blazed with white heat. Segments resembling insect legs jutted out of its bony face, constantly bending and waving along their many joints. The abomination's body was covered with thick, overlapping armor plates, which ran in rectangular segments along its snake's belly. Sharp parallel ridges extruded from the sides of each segment. It had a great many black legs, branching off in clumps along its length. Each leg ended in feet covered with razor-edged blades the length of my forearm. Pairs of thin insect wings ran down its spine; the air hummed from their continual beating. They churned so quickly that their exact shape blurred and was lost. Surrounding the flying horror was a squalid, immediately familiar aura of black sorcery.

Shang Tsung had finally tapped into his immense reserves of Power.

* * *

My plan was working better than I'd expected. All Shang Tsung's guards had left him, save one. The lone sentry's head was bowed and his shoulders slumped, while the necromancer's finely arched eyebrows descended in scorn. Though the guard's words were too high-pitched to discern against Liu Kang's and Goro's clamorous battle cries, Shang Tsung's accusatory reply was firm and clear.

"You have failed me." The necromancer's attention was entirely fixed upon his underling. Neither party detected my stealthy approach. The Power hovered upon my hands. I was within range to cast it, yet caution held me back. The Ice I create cannot kill across a distance; it merely stuns, and only for a short time. Worse, the concentration required to project it across open space would leave me momentarily vulnerable. Shang Tsung was so deadly, so Powerful that it would be better to kill him in a single action. I crept close enough to hear the guard's reply.

"Master, I wasn't late for my shift-"

"No excuses!" snapped the sorcerer.

Closer...

"I am ashamed, Master. Please forgive me." Shang Tsung's lackey fell to his knees, prostrating himself like a whimpering dog.

"I forgive you."

Whispers of clearer eddies reflected off Shang Tsung's churning aura and scattered across open space. They were my only warning a split-second before a noose of flesh, reeking of vinegar and dripping caustic slime, curled around my neck. Shards of bone poked through its flaccid length, digging into my skin. Placing both hands on the fleshy member, I drove the Power into it. The Ice made it brittle as wafer; I snapped the tendril into pieces, ripping them off my throat and casting them away.

Spinning around, I confronted a very distressed Reptile. His elongated tongue spilled out of his mouth and onto the floor, ending in an open wound that spilled brackish-maroon blood. He tried to say something, perhaps a warning to his master, but all that came out was a weak lisp. The scream of a mortal being drained of his soul filled my ears as I firmly stepped on Reptile's bleeding tongue. I'd pinned him in place for a two-handed gouge to his feline eyes, yet when he shut his eyelids, my fingers couldn't penetrate their unusually heavy armor.

Reptile's tongue shrank, disappearing from underneath my foot until all that could be seen of it were spurts of its blood trickling down his jaw. His skin changed color to pale dusk. Blisters appeared on his face. Slit-pupiled, crimson eyes softened into round pupils surrounded by sienna iris. Fully transformed, he summoned a spiraling wheel of my own Ice and cast it toward me.

The lizard was a blasted shape-changer, just like his master.

"Where is he? Where is that cringing coward, Shang Tsung?" Liu Kang's shouted insults drowned out the scarce noise of the struggle with my own reflection. I dived underneath the glittering path of his stolen Power, tackling SubZero-Reptile about the knees.

"You can no longer hide behind Goro; I have defeated him!" Reptile's form was in the process of changing again when I cocked and drove my fist into his throat. The skin on his mirror-image face melted, dripping away from a stark white skull. My knuckles met a hard ridge of bone. Reptile, now remade in Scorpion's image, used his newly gained Power to disappear in a faint puff of breezy Power.

"Shang Tsung, you aging relic, answer me! You fading mockery of a man! You pitiable monster in the shape of an elderly wreck!" Scorpion-Reptile reformed to my left. He drove the heel of his right hand toward my nose. Keeping my left arm bent perpendicular, I used the inner edge of its forearm to deflect his strike at a cross-angle. He moved to retract his arm, but wasn't quite fast enough. I took hold of the bony limb. Shifting position to squarely face his right side, I whipped his arm in a clockwise circle, while keeping the radius and ulna bones of his forearm in constant alignment. Though Scorpion-Reptile's adopted form had neither skin nor muscle, his joints obeyed the same laws as any mortal's. His body followed the twist of his arm, spinning forward and awkwardly flopping on his back. Scorpion-Reptile's skull blurred, again shifting into the mirror image of my fire-scarred face.

"I have passed ALL your tests; now come down and face me like the warrior you PRETEND to be!" As I chambered another crushing blow to his trachea, SubZero-Reptile's good arm lashed out. Its fingers brushed lightly against my wrist-  
Stillness.

The touch of my own paralysis used against me was like seeing the world reflected in the shine of a frozen waterfall. Listening to the drifting snow. Feeling the beat of an owl's wings on the winter wind.

"Reptile!" Shang Tsung's frantic shriek jolted me out of that motionless other world. Only seconds had passed, though it did not feel that way. The necromancer was in front of me. To his left lay the dried remains of a dead guard. Crumbling mortar skittered underneath Shang Tsung's feet; he teetered on the topmost edge of Goro's lair, about to fall in. SubZero-Reptile was behind him and to his right, just outside his visual range. SubZero-Reptile tentatively reached to steady his master - and stopped short.

In retrospect, I think I know what made him hesitate. Once, a select few of the Lin Kuei used to study the Power of shape-shifting. They soon learned its penultimate danger: losing one's identity to that of the borrowed form. Some became beasts that forgot how to be human. Others changed into the bodies of members of rival clans, to assist operations of infiltration and espionage. Their schemes backfired when they _became_ the enemy, selling out and turning against the Lin Kuei in a murderous rampage. Eventually shape-shifting, like necromancy, was also forbidden of all clan members on pain of death.  
When Reptile assumed my form, he also acquired my desire to kill Shang Tsung. That desire had to be at war with his true self, which had sworn an oath to protect Shang Tsung. While he was trapped in the steel claws of indecision, the necromancer plummeted over the edge, landing with a dull _thud_ on the floor of Goro's Lair. Shocked, SubZero-Reptile stared down into the gulf. As his borrowed form reverted to dull green scales, I formed a stiletto of Ice in my hand. I planted the weapon in Reptile's back, between his scapulae and to the left. He toppled over the side as well.

Looking over the edge, I saw Shang Tsung stagger to his feet. Liu Kang approached him swiftly, yet also cautiously. I sprinted around and down a sloping ramp built into the wall's far edge. The necromancer cried out in pain when I touched the floor of Goro's lair. Liu Kang was keeping him quite distracted. That would make my job all the easier.

GET OVER HERE!

One moment there was a clear path to the beleaguered Shang Tsung; the next, Scorpion's forbidding visage barred my way. This had to be the true Scorpion, not Reptile in disguise; for like me, Shang Tsung's servant preferred ambush to open combat. The specter's unearthly spear tore through the empty space between us, seeking my heart. I flipped forward, tucking into a ball and clearing the barb's lethal course. The basalt sole of Scorpion's boot slammed against my chest while I was in the process of landing. In the distance, Liu Kang voiced his wordless battle cry.

Have you forgotten? This is the appointed hour of retribution! Stunned and off-balance, I threw up my arms to deflect Scorpion's chambered punch, but his jab had been a feint - the true attack came from his other hand, and lower. His bony knuckles drove into my diaphragm. I doubled over.

He was good. At least my equal in speed and strength.

Yesss, my demons have prepared me well for this day. Two years to you has been an eternity of training and hatred for me! Did you think you could run from my vengeance, assassin!? Rage suddenly overtook him. Abandoning subtlety, he thrust a straight punch, which I caught in my palm. He tried to claw my face with the skeletal fingers of his free arm; I seized its wrist and grappled with him. We remained locked in a balanced test of might. The modicum of effort required to call the Power would have been more than I could afford to sacrifice, so instead I tried to stave off the specter with words.

"I do not have time for this! I must kill Shang Tsung. After I have assassinated him, I shall accept your challenge!" If he truly could see into my mind, then he knew that I always keep my agreements to the letter.

No! Shang Tsung could kill you, and deprive me of my revenge!

"He won't."

I will not take that risk! Your life is MINE to destroy, and MINE alone!

While we argued, Liu Kang sang a final, piercing wail of pure fury. A dull _crack_ sound accompanied it. The combined effect set off a chain reaction in the necromantic aura that permeated Shang Tsung's palace. Stone cracked. Lightning flashed.

Wooden supports creaked and groaned. The air crackled with unraveling Power. There could be only one explanation: Shang Tsung had lost to Liu Kang, and the failure was tearing apart his delicate web of sorcery. Judging from the terrible grinding sounds, it would seem that his palace was crumbling as well. Perhaps it, too, was like Dragon Wing - a structure so shoddy that only black magic stalled its disintegration.

"Reptile..." the necromancer coughed. His faint cry was hardly audible over the din of his decaying palace. I should have known Liu Kang would not have the ruthlessness to kill him directly. If I moved quickly, I could still finish what the young warrior had started.

I ceased pushing against Scorpion's strength and rocked backwards. Unprepared for the sudden lack of resistance, the specter pitched toward me. With an upward kick to boost his momentum, I sent him over my head, yet kept the grip on his arms so that his supine body smacked into the stone floor behind me. I completed my roll, arriving with my knees on his shoulders, and drove the Power into the base of his neck. There was no more time to waste on him, not when Shang Tsung could already be fleeing. Icy paralysis would keep Scorpion out of my hair for long enough. Chunks of loosening mortar and stone tumbled from above as I sprinted in the direction of the necromancer's voice.

My fear that he might escape had been unfounded.

Liu Kang had broken Shang Tsung's spine. The necromancer's arms and legs hung completely slack. Reptile was there, supporting his upper body. The lizard was almost as bad off as his master. One of the scaly creature's legs had been twisted by his fall; he tried to stay balanced on one knee. A deep gash cut into the right side of his saurian head. Rivulets of dull reddish blood, trickling from both the head and the mouth, dampened his face and uniform. The stiletto of Ice was still in his back. I'd aimed it to pierce his heart, but perhaps lizard organs are not arranged in the same manner as those of men. Shang Tsung's sworn protector was in no condition to oppose me.

A man-sized block of masonry barreled toward my head, forcing me to dodge. The block missed me by such a close margin that it pinned down the frontscloth of my ceremonial uniform. As I tore the damn thing free, I heard Reptile's whisper carry underneath the surrounding cacophony.

"I am sssorry, Massster."

"You should be," Shang Tsung snapped.

I closed in on the sorcerer and his slave just in time to see a gigantic pile of mossy cinder blocks pulverize their bones.

* * *

The thing Shang Tsung had become opened its rigid jaws and vomited an expanding cone of fire - _real_ fire, not a psychic attack that merely stunned. I threw myself almost but not quite entirely out of its path. Part of my uniform was ablaze when I landed. To smother the flames, I rolled lengthwise on Limbo's dust.

The fireworm's wingbeats combined with the vibration of his segmented armor plates to create a buzzing, chattering sound that vaguely resembled words. zzzNOW YOU zzzSEE THE TRUE EXzzzTENT OF MY POWERzzz! zzzBEG FOR MERzzzCY, FLESHLING, AND I _MAY_ GRANT YOU A FAzzzST DEATH INSTEAD OF A TORTUROUSzzz ONEzzz - zzzBUT EITHER WAY, YOUR zzzSOUL ISzzz MINEzzz!

I had absolutely no idea what to do.

Assassinating a man is one thing, but how in all damnation was I to kill a flying horror fifty times my size? What little Power I could call forth was flickering unevenly on my left hand. It wasn't enough to immobilize a single one of the gigantic fireworm's insect legs. Though my uniform was extinguished, my right arm and leg sported long burns on their exposed skin. Blocking out the distress chipped away at my concentration. Exhaustion sapped my strength. When I tried to move, the best I could manage was a halting limp.

zzzI DON'T HEAR BEGGINGGGGGGGzzz! He swooped down. Three pairs of his insect legs plucked me off the ground, easily anticipating my weak attempt to dodge. The fireworm's armor-plated skin seared like superheated metal. My struggles had no effect. My feeble burst of Power sizzled and evaporated off his bony exterior. His snakelike neck curled in a loop, bringing his white-hot, compound eyes on line with my own. His bony maw opened and shut with hard _clack_ sounds. zzzFIRzzzST YOUR ARMSzzz, THEN YOUR LEGSzzz, THEN LAzzzST OF ALL YOUR HEADzzz!

Saibot had been right all along. This was one trap I could not escape.

* * *

**end section three of part four**__

**Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.**


	16. Part 4 Section 4 Ending

**_Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website (in my profile)._**

**THE COMING OF WINTER  
Part 4 of 4: Section 4** **written by Victar  
Victar's Archive: **  
**Part 4 Section 4 **

**

* * *

**Scorpion's delay had cost me my opportunity to kill Shang Tsung.

Indescribable acrimony engulfed me as I dashed for the shelter of the side tunnels leading from Goro's lair. The pressing, maddening astringency was a dangerous distraction from the life-threatening chaos of Shang Tsung's dying palace. Pieces of falling masonry came close to killing me when I dived into the closest tunnel opening. I skidded into another pile of rubble.

This tunnel's interior had caved in, turning it into a cul-de-sac. More plummeting debris accumulated in front of the tunnel's entrance, reducing the already poor visibility within to nearly zero - except for the illumination of two milk-white eyes, glowing eerily in the darkness. The faint outline of an unmasked skull framed their soft radiance.

I was not surprised to find Scorpion waiting for me. If anything, I was glad.

"You cost me my kill," I growled.

We must leave this place. Come with me. He held out a skeletal hand.

I launched forward in a catlike pounce, tackling him. His empty eyes grew a shade wider when he hit the ground. Chambering my fist close to my ribs, I pounded him with a straight punch that knocked several teeth out of his maxilla and mandible. Scorpion's body suddenly reverted from solid to ghostly; my follow-up punch passed through his dissipating form, and I bloodied my knuckles on the hard rock underneath.

You murdering fool! he snapped as he reformed to my left. I only want to kill you. But there are horrors that even the dead fear, as you will find out if the vortex born of Shang Tsung's destruction ensnares your soul! I can transport us both to a place where we may finish this without outside interference, if you will only stand still!

No. No deals. No delays. He'd sacrificed that option when he cost me my kill. While he wasted his breath on useless explanations, I summoned a minimal amount Power and cast it at his flickering image. He brought up his skeletal arms in a king's X, warding off the sprinkling of Ice, but the Power had been merely a feint. Recovering quickly from the weak burst of Ice, I'd begun my charge as soon as it left my hands, and left the ground when crystals scattered across his guard. I extended my lead leg, keeping it straight and flexing the heel, the better to drive my full weight into his torso.

Scorpion tried to dodge by turning sideways; I hooked my knee in a midair kick that scored a glancing blow to his chest. One of his ribs fractured with a faint _snap_ sound. The enclosed chamber's wall was rushing toward me; as I landed from the flying kick, I stumbled into the rough stone, bruising my shin and shoulder.

The specter was already upon me, tethered spear in hand. I knew he would hurl it toward my heart before he moved to do so; that anticipation saved my life. My palm pushed upon the spear's shaft perpendicular to its forward thrust, deflecting its course. Its lethal tip scored a gash on the stone wall behind me, creating a small shower of sparks. Undaunted, Scorpion lifted his knee and rammed the ball of his foot into my stomach. The distance between us softened the kick more than my training to absorb impacts with a minimum of damage. Even so, it was good that I had not eaten recently.

I doubled over, folding my arms and pressing them under my ribcage. The specter advanced. Eager to press his advantage, he didn't realize my deceit until I snapped out of the pose and gripped his shoulders. I hopped like a jumping songbird, planting my feet where my hands had been and pushing off him as if he were a springboard. He tumbled backwards while I flipped through the air and landed in a full-forward stance, waiting for his next move.

Scorpion recovered quickly from his fall. The fiery nimbus of his Power surrounded him, concentrated most fiercely upon his head and eyes. He took one look at the distance between us and hurled his mystic spear across the expanse.

His mistake.

He should have known better than to try the same maneuver on me twice. I propelled myself into a forward flip. As the spear hurtled underneath me, I reached and plucked it out of the air with both hands, using my forward spin to redirect its momentum. Scorpion was frozen in that timeless instant of helplessness forced upon one who projects more than the slightest effort into his Power. I pushed the weapon into his upper body, angling its tip slightly upward between the fourth and fifth ribs of his left breast.

The point of Scorpion's own sting protruded out through his back. He bled, if the brackish, watery substance seeping from the puncture could be called blood. His legs shivered and refused to support his weight. He leaned against the wall and slumped, in an eerie replay of that fatal night two years ago.

Outside the cul-de-sac, crackling bursts of lightning and thunder split the air. A monstrous typhoon whipped stone blocks like a summer wind stirs dry leaves. Oppressive waves of unimaginable Power run wild washed over everything. Leaving Scorpion's still form behind, I approached the tunnel's mouth and glimpsed the cacophony's source: a steadily growing bubble of pure black. The vortex sucked rubble off the floor. Disappearing chunks of dirt and stone changed color, flashing through the visible spectrum from violet to deep red before they were lost within the amorphous black mass. Its jet surface was already pressing against the half-covered opening of this recess. The convex sable wall steadily absorbed the pile of fallen stone across the cul-de-sac's entrance and began to push inside. Loose cloth upon my ceremonial uniform flapped from the dark matter's hurricane pull, which threatened to sweep me off my feet. I backed up to the niche's far wall.

My mistake.

You - come - HERE!

An ageless hand closed around my throat, cutting off my breath. I called the Power to my defense, but another limb, dry and sturdy as an ancient tree branch, struck the back of my head. My focus was lost; my thoughts were stunned. No amount of struggling could resist the hands that lifted me lengthwise. Lack of air caused spots to flash before my eyes, yet I had a momentary downward glimpse of Scorpion holding me high, his eyes afire with bloodlust. His own spear still protruded through his ribcage.

I should have realized our battle was still in progress. He hadn't stayed dead the first time I killed him, after all; but I'm too accustomed to enemies who stay put once their heart has stopped. The specter had surprised me with the stealth and ruthlessness worthy of a Lin Kuei.

You dare to murder me _twice_, he spat, nearly choking on his own hatred. For that, you will _die_ twice! And your second death will be annihilation of the SOUL! The specter carried me forward and flung me into the rippling sable surface.

A universe of blackness imploded, constricting me in a slowly tightening vise. Ghostly, prying talons curled around the central focus of my being and rent it asunder. Scorpion's maniacal cry of triumph followed me into the depths of perdition... until I came to my senses, spread-eagled on the dry soil of a place that was too damn hot.

I opened my eyes and saw a demon.

* * *

The fireworm's slavering jaws were about to clamp down on my arm when a frigid gust of wind blew, upsetting his aerial balance. He rolled over, twisting and straining his wings to regain lift. A broad shadow fell upon his segmented body.  
zzzWHO DARESzzz!?

Keening, musical cries sounded. They were the ringing of fine crystal, delicate and graceful, yet projected with so much strength they drowned out the fireworm's buzzing. Hovering above the evil monster was something almost as large. Its partly translucent body refracted the sun's rays into a dazzling prism. The fireworm's compound eyes flickered from white to deep red to violet, adjusting to the intense brilliance. Squinting, I traced the graceful pattern of light in the form of a slender neck, four elegantly clawed legs, a coachwhip tail, and a vast pair of wings spread wide.

She was an ice dragon.

_My_ ice dragon.

She was a gleaming shard of Paradise come to life. Her aura was a clear beacon of lost innocence, unsullied by mortal greed or evil. She was as beautiful as she had been the day I'd crafted her.

Circling above the fireworm, she lowered her head and opened her triangular mouth. What poured out was not the flaming, noxious stink of lesser creatures. Pure hoarfrost sparkled in the wake of her respiration, coating the fireworm's scales, stopping four pairs of his wings, dusting the insect legs that held me and soothing my burns. The fireworm sank lower, hovering only a few meters above the ground. Invigorated by the sudden temperature plunge, I forced my arms apart, shattering the worm's restraining limbs. Ice had made the insect legs so brittle they snapped into pieces, broken off at frozen stumps. My scorched leg buckled underneath me when I landed.

Overhead, the battle raged on. The ice dragon exhaled another cone of hoarfrost breath, but something was wrong - it missed the fireworm, which twisted and curled around the deadly vapor, his remaining multitude of wings keeping him perfectly suspended.

zzzSTUPID BEAzzzST! YOU CANNOT zzzSTOP THE LIVING AVATAR OF POWERzzz! He retaliated with his own breath weapon, which shot forward and cut into her side. One of her magnificent wings simply vanished, vaporized by the fiery torrent. A deep, hollowed gash in her body marked where it had been. There was no blood, only dripping ice water. Unable to stay aloft, she crashed heavily on her wounded side.

"No!" I shouted, involuntarily. I limped toward where she had fallen.

zzzSEE, BEAzzzST? zzzYOU'RE ASzzz WEAK ASzzz THE FLESHLING YOU TRY TO PROTECTzzz! taunted the fireworm, darting low. The ice dragon's serpentine neck darted upward; she tried to bite her enemy's throat. Again, the attack missed. Her glittering icicle teeth chipped upon one of the bony frills extending from the back of his head.

zzzENOUGH OF THISzzz! zzzDIEzzz! The worm breathed his fiery wrath upon the grounded dragon. She countered with her hoarfrost exhalation. Fire met Ice as I reached her side; the two elements reacted violently with one another, throwing off wide jets of hot steam.

"Shang Tsung! _Leave her alone!_" I yelled, but my words were swallowed up in the hissing pandemonium of their struggle. Desperately, I threw myself at the only part of the fireworm close enough for me to reach - the tip of his dangling tail. A slight coating of Power on my hands only partly protected them from his scalding armor plates.

zzzWHAT ISzzz THISzzz? zzzAWAY, PEzzzST! zzzI'LL DISzzzMEMBER YOU zzzSOON ENOUGHzzz! He lashed his tail until it slipped from of my burned fingers. I hurtled through the air, rolling as I hit the ground in a haphazard attempt to soften my fall. zzzSTUPID FLESHLING, YOU CANNOT OPPOzzzSE ME! zzzI AM SHANG zzzTSUNG! I AM INVINzzzCIBLE! I AMzzzZZZZZZZZAAAAH-

Wrapped up in his boasts, Shang Tsung did not react to my ice dragon's lunge until too late. She reared up on the tripod of her hind legs and tail, locking her icicle teeth and front claws upon the creases in the fireworm's neck plates, behind the frill shielding his head. His cord-like body thrashed wildly, yet his remaining wings were not strong enough to lift both himself and her. Bit by bit, she dragged him down to earth.

zzzNO, NOOO! LET ME GO, LET ME GO, LET ME GOOOOOzzz! The fireworm spat his breath weapon, but was unable to turn his head toward his captor. His flames blasted empty space. Screaming, he called upon his turbulent reserves of Power. His segmented body burst into reddish-yellow gouts of Fire, which carved melting, steaming rents in the ice dragon's ethereal body. One of her front legs dissolved completely. Still, she did not release him.

The Power was already on my hands as I limped toward them, desperate to destroy the monstrous thing that was killing my ice dragon. Heedless of her own injuries, she pinned his head down, exposing the underside of his throat. Limbo's dusty earth smothered some of his surrounding flames.

I knew exactly what to do.

I reached past my spent psyche, beyond reserves of inner strength long since sacrificed, into the wellspring that powered my own survival, and from that pool forged a sword of glittering Ice diamonds. Its sharpness and strength were tied into the endurance of my own heart and lungs. Its edge was serrated, paper-thin yet reinforced with pure Power. Ignoring the worm's oppressive fire and calamitous struggles, I swung the executioner's blade down upon the slight gap between the armor plates on his throat. The weapon slipped through, chopping part-way into the soft flesh beneath. I used the sword as a saw, wearing through the exoskeleton edges on either side of his neck.

zzzNOOO, IT'Szzz NOT FAIR! TWO AGAINzzzST ONE! IT'Szzz NOT FAAAAIR! IT'Szzz NOT- A final, grinding cut stifled the fireworm's wails, as his head rolled free of his squirming body. Black blood gushed from the cut. The flames engulfing his body died down, yet continued to smoulder. I allowed the sword to dissipate.

Something twisted in my insides.

I slumped upon the ground. A spike of coldness pierced my gut - coldness as ordinary mortals must feel it, attacking with an intensity that caused me to shiver uncontrollably. It was unreal. My Power should have protected me; it always protects me from cold, even when I am not calling upon it, but I could not deny the sinking, piercing sensation within.  
Smoke had warned me about this.

What had he said...? Something about my having a maximum of nine years left. He never did mention the minimum. Since then, I could not begin to recall how many times I'd summoned the Power - nay, tested the boundaries of what it could do. Creating the sword had been the final straw. At long last, the Power was exacting its price.

The ice dragon's long, elegant neck dipped down. She nuzzled me gently. Looking at her face, I saw what had hindered her aim during the battle. A smooth expanse of unbroken ice stretched where her eyes should have been. She was blind.

It took unimaginable effort to lift one arm and extend my hand toward her face. I tried to call forth the tiny modicum of Power needed to give her eyes. None came. I'd pushed my limits too far. The daggers inside me twisted. My outstretched hand flopped on the earth.

"I'm sorry," I gasped. "I can't..."

The ice dragon bumped her head against mine a little more urgently. She sang a soft, anxious warble. Her teeth delicately closed on the shoulder padding of my frayed uniform and used it to drag me away from the fireworm's smoking corpse. She pulled her battered frame forward on three legs, too badly injured to lift herself fully off the ground, and arranged herself in a semicircle between me and the dead worm. Her remaining wing extended over my head. I tried to pull myself into a sitting position and only succeeded in rolling onto my back. The ice dragon trilled, an exquisite high note accompanied by a worried counter tone.

"What is it, girl? What is wrong?"

She never had a chance to answer. A cataclysmic explosion erupted from the dead fireworm, spilling its monumental expense of Power in a blaze of heat and light. Immense gushes of Power were cast off, only to be absorbed and lost in Limbo's endless wastes. My ice dragon was shadowed for an instant in the infernal backlash before she broke apart, each fragment instantly transmuting to vapor or water droplets.

I lay still for a long time. The explosion could have killed me, easily, yet I was untouched. At last I regained enough strength to painfully sit up. A blasted, blackened patch of earth marked where the fireworm had been. I looked down at all that remained of my ice dragon: a shallow pool of water, inert and very cold. The fire-scarred face of a stranger stared back at me.

She was gone.

The only thing I'd ever loved... gone.

"No. You didn't have to do that," I whispered. She didn't have to throw away her life to protect my worthless soul. She had no right to make that decision. I'd rather Shang Tsung had killed me. I'd rather anything but this.

Damn it all. She didn't have the right.

Warm bitterness welled within the inside corners of my eyes, in sharp contrast to the chill lacing my intestines. The still pool of water reflected an impossibility - twin droplets of moisture gradually trickling down the stranger's cheeks. They hung from either side of his chin for a moment, then fell free. A pair of expanding concentric ripples sprouted upon the pool's surface, breaking up the reflection.

The shimmering ripples changed color to gold.

Bubbles floated and burst upon the now gilded pool. It boiled without sound or heat, emitting bright beams of piercing light instead. From everywhere and nowhere came a sibilant, familiar whisper, quiet as silt, soft as soapstone.

**_For every path into Limbo, there is a way out._**

The pond's roughly circular border glowed with golden radiance, while the center flickered with a multitude of different colors, shapes and patterns.

**_Choose your destiny._**

"-any new information?" I jerked bolt upright, recognizing my brother's voice.

An image of my Lin Kuei quarters molded in the pool's center, with vibrance and texture far more substantial than any mere reflection. Frost coated the surrounding walls. A throne of carved ice lay in the background. Looking into the hub, I saw my young brother putting on the last few vestments of Lin Kuei ceremonial garb. His uniform was colored black with deep blue highlights, as befits an Ice master. Smoke was there too. He was wearing his mask. The scene in the pool was so clear, so real it looked like I could step into it - and suddenly, without being told, I knew I could do exactly that. If I so chose.

"I received a message," Smoke rasped, "from a being who called himself Raiden." He shook his head. "I stopped believing in gods and devils a long time ago, but if Raiden is not a god then I haven't a clue what-"

"Will you get to the point?"

"The message was about a blood debt that I owe your brother. I was reluctant to believe it earlier, but I'm beginning to think he really is dead. If he were still around, he would have demanded repayment in person. He never did like relying on intermediaries."

"That is far from empirical proof."

"In any case, it seems that a second Tournament approaches. I'm going to be there."

"No, you are not. I am," the young Ice master corrected, drawing the uniform's sable hood over his head. "I can think of no better place to start looking for answers."

"There might be one. The last time I saw your brother, he had just crafted a book of Ice. It carried a dormant enchantment."

"Yes, I felt its presence within the throne the moment I entered this chamber. The first page has a single sentence: 'Only an Ice master can read this.' The rest is blank."

"Not very helpful. Hm. I thought that your finding the book might activate its Power, but something else must be the trigger. Still, are you sure you want to risk your life on the off-chance you might learn what happened to-"

"This isn't solely about my brother," he interrupted, slipping on his pair of fingerless gloves and pulling them taut. "Shang Tsung's patron must be stopped."

"How would you know about Shang Tsung's patron?"

"Because Raiden also appeared to me. He told me about this second Tournament, and the threat it poses to our world. I'm one of the few mortals with a chance of turning back that threat."

"And your instructor is not?"

"That isn't the issue. You should _not_ engage in strenuous activity; I won't hear any more protests."  
"Yes Master," Smoke drawled, a little too obsequiously.

"I told you not to call me that," my brother sighed, slightly vexed. "You are a free man now. Get used to it."

"Indeed? Then you cannot forbid me to play a role in this Tournament. Not in any meaningful sense."

"What? Smoke, don't fool yourself, you aren't ready to-"

"I am always ready," he interrupted, quietly. "Your concern is touching, but should be saved for yourself. I know my limits better than you think."

"Hmph. Ninja make the worst patients."

"Oh, and what am I supposed to call you while we're there? You haven't selected a use-name for yourself yet."

"Then I choose one now." He adjusted the deep blue mask so that it covered his entire face except for his eyes. His build was a little shorter and slighter than mine, but the uniform concealed the disparity. Only someone who knew both of us extremely well could have distinguished the difference. "I will be Sub-Zero. If my brother objects to that, he can come to me and complain. In fact, I hope he does."

The dull knife of creeping coldness within twisted when I heard that name. A series of uncontrollable shivers wracked me. I had been on the verge of reaching for the pool's sparkling surface; yet now I remembered that the last time I interfered with my brother's destiny, I'd wronged him greatly.

**_Choose._**

"No. Not there," I replied, shaking my head. "It is for the best. Show me someplace else."

The image in the pool faded, replaced by a flat obsidian expanse marked with a pentagram. Burned-out, melted remains of white candles rested on its five points. A desiccated corpse lay in the center. Though the face was too pinched and mummified to recognize, the yellow-and-black clothing on the remains precisely matched what Shang Tsung had been wearing when I confronted him in his youthful form. A shadow fell over the husk.

"SO, IT IS TRUE," boomed a deep, insidious voice. While I could not see the speaker, the fringe of his loathsome aura infested the edge of my perspective. So much corrupted Power flowed through him that he was close to the threshold of godhood. He could be none other than Shang Tsung's patron, Emperor Shao Kahn. "HOW IN ALL THE WORLDS WERE YOU KILLED WHILE IN A STATE OF ASTRAL PROJECTION? I MUST KNOW. I _SHALL_ KNOW!"

A streak of green electricity jolted Shang Tsung's body. His limbs twitched wildly, and his back arched off the floor. Dry, shriveled skin became softer and smoother. In a matter of seconds, the husk transmuted into flesh and blood. The electricity vanished. Shang Tsung started to breathe.

"AWAKEN, SLAVE!" Another jolt of viridescent electricity hit him, but its purpose this time was to hurt, not to heal. Shang Tsung screamed in pain, involuntarily writhing from the affliction. The Kahn chuckled, and continued the torture for a full thirty seconds after the necromancer's milk-white, pupilless eyes opened.

"-fair!" gasped the necromancer. His face rapidly cycled through a series of expressions - fear, shock, anger, frustration, hatred, and back to fear. "M-master! I can explain-"

"NO NEED." Shang Tsung screeched and clutched his head. "I ADVISE YOU TO BE STILL. THE MORE YOU FIGHT THE MIND PROBE, THE LONGER IT WILL TAKE." The necromancer stifled his cries, though an expression of agony remained on his face.

"SO THAT IS HOW IT WAS DONE," mused the Kahn, after an interminable interlude. Shang Tsung let go of his head and sprawled on the floor, heaving and shuddering. "YOU ARE FORTUNATE YOU DID NOT HAVE THE COURAGE TO FACE THIS MORTAL IN PERSON, OR YOU WOULD HAVE LOST YOUR SOUL TO LIMBO!" The fell emperor's pronouncement gave way to mocking laughter.

"I'm quite aware of that," Shang Tsung muttered, gritting his teeth.

"INDEED? AND ARE YOU AWARE HOW MUCH OF _MY_ POWER YOU WASTED, LOST FOREVER TO THAT INSATIABLE DESERT?"  
"I-I didn't mean-"

"SILENCE!" One more flash of emerald electricity engulfed the necromancer; to his credit, he bit back the urge to cry out.

"YOU ARE DOUBLY FORTUNATE THAT I AM IN A MERCIFUL MOOD, SLAVE. SINCE I HAVE ALREADY EXPENDED THE EFFORT TO REANIMATE YOU, YOU MAY AS WELL STAY ALIVE, SO LONG AS YOU REMAIN USEFUL - BUT DO NOT EXPECT TO BORROW POWER FROM ME AGAIN! FROM THIS MOMENT HEREON YOU ARE FORBIDDEN TO USE ASTRAL PROJECTION, OR ANY OTHER TECHNIQUE BEYOND YOUR _OWN_ MEAGER SKILLS!"

Shang Tsung nervously licked his lips. "Y-yes, Master. Thank you, Master." Though the sorcerer mouthed words of gratitude, poorly restrained fury raged in his eyes.

"OH, AND SLAVE... TRY NOT TO GET KILLED AGAIN, UNLESS IT IS IN A SUITABLY AMUSING MANNER." Shao Kahn bellowed in laughter while the necromancer's ears burned red.

**_Choose._**

I'd killed Shang Tsung once, and drained a significant portion of his master's Power, yet it was a Pyrrhic victory. When I accepted the final contract, I had known that my life and soul could be forfeit; such are the hazards of being an assassin. The ultimate price had been higher than that. Infinitely higher.

Damn her. She never had the right...

"No," I whispered, pressing one arm against the cold spike in my gut. "It is time for the others to carry on the fight against Shang Tsung and his patron. Show me something else."

The image in the pool metamorphosed into steaming pools of lava, flowing amidst tracks of scorched earth. Rising out of the superheated depths were columns of human skulls, randomly fused with muted yellow-and-brown mortar. Scorpion crouched atop the highest skull column, oblivious to his surroundings. His mask and hood were down, baring the fleshless skull that formed his head. His right hand was held out, palm upturned. A small bonfire burned upon the skeletal hand. The wavering form of a woman appeared in the fire.

Mei. I would give anything to see you again, to talk to you, the specter intoned, sorrowfully. You were always the practical one. You could make sense out of anything, no matter how insane.

I was allowed to return and avenge my death, Mei, but I can never again know you or our son. Existing in this cursed form, I can only observe, and I have seen something I do not understand. You believe the money that supports your wages and sends our boy to a private school comes from your relatives. It doesn't. They are merely intermediaries for an anonymous benefactor. I have discovered the sponsor's identity. He is none other than the assassin who murdered me. The fund he set up continues to sustain you, even though I have killed him.

Scorpion's free hand closed into a tightly drawn fist. It has to be a trap. Killing me wasn't enough; he wanted to gain leverage over you as well. I've exhausted myself in a search to learn more about his evil plan. Do you know what I found?

Nothing.

If he plotted to assassinate you, or enslave you, or extract a price in exchange for the donations, the scheme died with him. His own clan of killers does not know where he funneled his blood money. It doesn't make sense. Why did the fiend arrange this act of generosity? Did he think it would appease my wrath? If so, he was in error. Scorpion drew his clenched fist close to where his heart once was. I showed him no more mercy than he showed me!

I wish you could advise me, Mei. I would come back to you if I could. If there were any way. There is none. So I have devoted myself to the one thing I have left: revenge. I was trained, reforged, reborn in the fires of Hell for a single purpose: to destroy my murderer! And I succeeded. At long last, _vengeance is mine_...! As he voiced the proclamation, Scorpion, rose to his feet, lifting his fist in triumph. His head tilted back, raising his hollow eye sockets to whatever passes for a sky in Hell.

Then gradually, his undead gaze fell until it came to rest on the picture once more. His legs wobbled, folding back into a crouch. The fire-picture in his right hand died. He slumped, lowering his free arm. Its bony fist unclenched; the fingers hung limp and listless.

...and I don't know what to do.

**_Choose._**

"No," I responded, succumbing to another episode of shivering. I killed Scorpion. He had as good as killed me. Our score was settled.

The scene in the pool changed to a lavish set of Lin Kuei personal quarters, decorated entirely in black. Hurricane and Toxin were each on one knee, respectfully addressing the shrouded Unknown.

"We don't mean to contest your wisdom," Hurricane muttered, glancing alternately at the Unknown's folded arms and the floor's scarlet carpeting. "It is only that Ultratech has held no love for us in the past. Are you sure that-" The Unknown's back was turned to me, so that I could not see what he signed, but whatever it was silenced Hurricane. The blue-and-white clad ninja swallowed, hanging his head.

"The Lin Kuei has survived without technology for over a millennium!" Toxin burst out, daring to lift her eyes to the Unknown's masked face. "We have no need of this alliance!" Standing up, the Unknown made a series of curt gestures that whipped the draping sleeves of his robe about.

"No, Lord. I-I do not challenge your authority," she stammered, looking away. The Unknown turned in my direction, moving one hand in a slashing line from up to down. Both his counsel obeyed the dismissal.

The Unknown took off his ebony gloves. As he moved to set them aside, I saw that he wore a second set of gloves underneath; only this pair was of a rubbery material instead of cloth, and had sections of metal grafted onto the back of the hand and finger joints. He extended a short length of wire from the metal backing over his right hand. A sound akin to waves breaking on the seashore came from the extension, followed by neutral voice speaking flatly in English.

"Contact made. Please state passcode." The Unknown removed his one-way kuroko mask.

If it were possible for my blood to run any colder, it did.

Behind the mask was a monstrous visage of grey metal. A slotted red grate fitted over the mouth. Two lengths of corrugated tubing wound around the back of his head, touching either cheek. Instead of eyes, the vaguely manlike construct sported soulless, oblong openings filled with darkness. I'd seen a head like that once before - atop the yellow abomination in Pyre's laboratory.

_Predisposition to kill._ The voice from the slotted grate carried an alien, vibrating modulation, but its general tone stirred my memory.

"Level one passcode accepted. Please state designation and message."

_Designation: Unit LK-9T9. Message: internal discontent over stage one of Operation: Mass Reprogram noted. This unit recommends accelerating the timetable._

"Designation and message recorded. End contact." The Unknown compressed the wire back inside his glove. That was when I remembered to whom his voice belonged:

Sektor.

It would have been an act of mercy to kill him when I had the chance.

**_Choose._**

"No. Nothing I could do to him would be worse than what he has done to himself." The pool's image dissolved into a tangled blend of hypnotic colors.

This could continue without end. I'd earned the right to leave Limbo, yet there was nowhere I wanted to go. The worlds shown in the pool no longer had any hold upon me. Whatever ties there once had been died with my beautiful ice dragon. All that remained was bottomless grief.

I was wrong. There are worse things than to have one's heart frozen stiff and still.

"Show me..." I had to stop and cough for a moment. "Show me a place where I can find peace."

The pool obliged. Its colors faded, yielding to a serene grey haze. Nothing intruded upon the misty expanse. Its quiescence was soothing to behold. I looked at the calm grey domain, basking in the reflection of its tranquility. This was a land without joy, but also without sorrow.

"Yes. There," I aspirated, no longer able to voice the words. "I shall go there."

It is the coming of winter for me. This tome of Ice is your legacy, little brother. The Power I applied to its pages will now transcribe all that has happened, so that you know the truth; and it will record all the mistakes I have made, so that you do not repeat them.

* * *

Damn you.

To use your own words, _you didn't have the right!_ Why didn't you come back when you had the chance? I've read these last paragraphs over and over, trying to understand, and I don't. I never will. We've had our differences, I know, but that is the poorest, rottenest justification I have ever - why didn't you come back?

Didn't you realize? _I've found a cure_ for the affliction that plagues Lin Kuei with the Talent! Smoke agreed to subject himself to my tests. Through work, systematic elimination, and a miraculous streak of luck, I tracked the cause of his ailment to a defective gene common to Lin Kuei bloodlines. Most Lin Kuei with the Power come from eight ancestral families, all of which can be traced to a single province. The gene only creates a finite amount of antigen proteins essential to maintaining the metabolic balance between organic and hypergeometic bodily functions. Eventual deficiency of these antigens has disastrous consequences, but their role can be supplanted by-

-oh, even if you can hear this, you'd just shake your head and tune it out, like you always did. What's important is that the treatment worked on Smoke. I couldn't stop him from seeking out Shao Kahn's Tournament before he'd fully recovered, but the preternatural decay in his lungs stopped, even repaired itself to some degree. I would have tested the remedy on more clan members if I'd had the opportunity. I've treated myself as well. Unless my research is seriously mistaken, the Power's final curse will never fall upon me.

More has happened since then. Much more. I escaped from Shao Kahn's Tournament, but he has since found a way to reach our world and wreak unspeakable havoc. The Kahn has sent his Outworld legions to destroy what few mortals whose souls he cannot dominate, including me. The Lin Kuei clan as you know it is no more. Most of its members have been willingly or unwillingly turned into cyborg slaves, thanks to Sektor and his alliance with Ultratech. Smoke and I were ignorant of their decline when we returned to warn them. I barely got away with this book and my life. Smoke was not so lucky. I'm on my own.

The Lin Kuei have sent their automated killers after me. Sektor leads the hunt, no longer constrained to hide his visage now that the clan has fallen. To this day, he burns with rage over the deaths of his brother and grandfather. He never dared to act openly when you were alive, but with you out of the way he intends to have revenge on me. Everyone thinks you are dead. I refuse to believe it. Brother, wherever you are, please come back! The world needs you. I need you.

Come back!

* * *

**end**_ **The Coming of Winter** _


End file.
